


some kind of madness

by aintitnifty



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2018-01-24 06:27:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1594973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aintitnifty/pseuds/aintitnifty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all started with a bar fight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this has been sitting in my kurobas wip folder for a while, so i decided to finally post it in honor of aokaga day wOOHOO.
> 
> updates will come periodically, probably on a monthly or bi-weekly basis, because i'm a little ahead of myself on this fic, but only by a couple of chapters, and life has been pretty busy.
> 
> so... yeah, enjoy, all! happy aokaga day! <3
> 
> \- - -
> 
> title from: madness by muse, aka, my ultimate aokaga song

It all started with a bar fight.

Well, _technically_ it started with a drunk guy wearing sunglasses in a dark club (and honestly, who wears sunglasses in a dark club?) bumping into Aomine, causing Aomine to spill his beer all over Satsuki and—more importantly—all over Satsuki’s thin white blouse. Normally this wouldn’t have been enough to lead to a fight, because getting into fights led to Satsuki yelling and possibly crying and definitely not speaking to Aomine for a while and that just wasn’t worth one spilled beer, so Aomine was prepared to brush off the whole thing as an accident. But before Aomine could shrug out of his jacket and put it over Satsuki’s shoulders, the Sunglasses Dude had leaned around Aomine and leered down at Satsuki and slurred, “Don’ give ‘er your jacket, what a waste of nice tits!” And then he’d tried to actually _reach_ for Satsuki and, well, that was enough of that.

Aomine couldn’t help but smile through his cracked lip as he remembered the satisfying impact of his fist against that douchebag’s jaw. The guy had dropped like a rock, clutching his mouth, and Aomine would have been completely happy just to call it a night right then and there, but unfortunately, Sunglasses Dude had buddies and they were ready for a fight.

So Aomine gave them one.

“Are you actually smiling about this?”

Aomine glanced up from his seat on the sidewalk outside the club to find Satsuki glaring down at him. She was finally wearing his jacket; it hung down to her thighs, and she’d rolled the sleeves up so they didn’t hang over her hands. Even so, her arms were crossed over her chest and she was wearing her patented I Am Very Disappointed In You And Your Actions Glare™, so Aomine knew to take her seriously. He stopped smiling.

“Sorry,” he said.

“You’d better be,” she said. “You know they’re going to give you a ticket, right? And if those guys decide to press charges, you could be arrested for assault.”

“That asshole was asking for it.”

“That doesn’t mean you had to _break his jaw_ —”

“He tried to touch you,” Aomine said, his voice hard. “I wasn’t just gonna stand by and let some drunken pervert feel you up right in front of me. He asked for it as soon as he tried to touch you.”

Satsuki closed her mouth, her lips pursing into a displeased little moue. Then she sighed and stepped over to the curb and slumped down beside him, leaning her head against his shoulder, hiding her face in the torn fabric of his t-shirt.

“Thank you,” she said.

Aomine looped an arm around her and tugged her close, pressing a quick kiss in her hair.

“Anytime,” he said.

Satsuki lifted her head, making a face. “Did you just get blood in my hair?”

Aomine touched a finger to his tender lip; it came away bloody, shining in the pale light of the streetlamps.

“Probably,” he said. Satsuki made a disgusted noise and swatted at his hand, but Aomine could see the amused gleam in her eyes as she leaned against him again.

“Aomine-san?”

Aomine looked up as a young patrol officer—the same one who’d taken his and Satsuki’s statements earlier that night—came over to them.

“The paramedics are here, if you’d like to get patched up,” said the officer.

“I’m fine,” was Aomine’s automatic response, but his lip was still bleeding and his right hand really fucking hurt and looked a little broken maybe and he could already feel the shiner swelling beneath his left eye and yeah, maybe he was a little dizzy, so at Satsuki’s concerned look he sighed and said, “I’ll be there in a second.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” Satsuki asked, sitting back to allow Aomine room to stand.

“Actually, I have a few more questions I need to ask you, Momoi-san,” the officer said, looking very apologetic about it, and Aomine had a sudden, almost-hallucinatory flashback to Sakurai.

“Oh. Okay.” Satsuki frowned, lips pursed as she turned to Aomine. “Will you be okay on your own?”

Aomine got to his feet steadily enough, although the world did waver around him a little. He wondered vaguely how hard he’d hit his head when that gorilla-looking jackass had tackled him.

“I’m not _that_ beat up, Satsuki. I did win that fight, after all. I’ll be fine,” Aomine said, flashing her what he hoped was a reassuring grin, bloody lip and all.

Satsuki looked unconvinced. “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” Aomine said. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

“Okay.” Satsuki hugged his jacket tightly around her, curling her legs close to her body. “Just… yell if you need me.”

“Sure thing.” He reached down to ruffle her hair, then headed in the direction Officer Almost-Sakurai had indicated, toward a white ambulance with flashing red lights. The back doors of the ambulance were open and there was a tall man fussing about with something inside the back hatch. He was leaning over, but Aomine would guess he was easily as tall as Aomine himself, and about as solidly built.

Just as Aomine was about to call out a greeting, though, the man straightened and turned, clearly looking for his expected patient, and Aomine stopped dead in his tracks.

“No _fucking_ way,” he said, and the man’s eyes widened as they met his own.

“Oh, shit,” said Kagami Taiga, and fuck, it was him, tall and broad-shouldered and red-haired and _wearing a fucking EMT uniform_.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Aomine said. “ _You’re_ gonna patch me up?”

“Apparently.” Kagami sighed and rolled up his sleeves, then patted the floor of the ambulance, clearly meaning for Aomine to sit there.

Aomine didn’t move. “Are you sure you’re qualified for this kind of stuff? Did you even graduate from college?”

Kagami’s eyes narrowed, his cheeks darkening. “Of course I did, asshole. Did you?”

“I played college ball, didn’t I?”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” Kagami patted the floor of the ambulance again, harder. “Come on, let’s get this over with. I don’t have all night.”

Aomine glared, but his head and his hand were still throbbing, so he stalked over to the ambulance and took a seat on the back hatch. Surprisingly, Kagami went right to business, pulling a little penlight out of his pocket and shining it first into Aomine’s right eye, then his left.

“No concussion,” Kagami murmured, switching off the penlight and stowing it once more. He lifted his hands to either side of Aomine’s face, but paused before making contact. “May I?” he asked.

Aomine found himself so baffled at being asked for permission that he could only nod, and then Kagami’s hands were on his face, gently probing his cheekbones and jaw, feeling for fractures. Kagami leaned in to get a good look at the swelling bruise on Aomine’s left cheekbone, and Aomine realized belatedly that this was probably the closest the two of them had ever been to each other. He could see every eyelash framing Kagami’s sharp eyes, could watch every tiny change in expression, could see the little strands of hair sticking up in odd ways at his temples.

“So what are you doing with yourself nowadays?” Kagami asked quietly, still gently touching the skin around Aomine’s shiner. “Aside from getting into bar fights, obviously.”

“I work security down at the power plant in Chiyoda,” Aomine said.

“And how’s that going?”

Aomine stared at Kagami, keeping silent long enough for Kagami to stop fussing over his cheek and pull away, frowning.

“Small talk?” Aomine asked, once he was sure that he—and not his broken face—had Kagami’s full attention. “Really? We haven’t seen each other in almost six years and you want to do small talk?”

“Well, what do you want to talk about?” Kagami asked, turning away to rummage in what looked to be a huge first aid kit. He produced a small square of thick gauze and handed it to Aomine. “For your lip.”

“Thanks.” Aomine pressed the gauze to his bleeding lip. “And I don’t know what to talk about, this is too bizarre. I mean, where the hell have you even been for the past few years?”

“How is that not small talk?” Kagami said. “Hand.”

Aomine stared. “What?”

“Hand,” Kagami repeated, gesturing at Aomine’s mangled right hand, and Aomine lifted it for Kagami to take. “I’ve been in school. I was in L.A. for a while. Preparing for this job.”

“Playing ball?”

Kagami’s hands stilled in their careful movement over Aomine’s hand, and Aomine suppressed a shiver of excitement as bright eyes met his own. It had been a long time since he’d seen that kind of competitive fire; no one he’d played in college had ever quite matched Kagami for sheer passion.

“Yeah, I’ve been playing.” Kagami’s lips quirked into a crooked grin, the first Aomine had seen that night. “Why, you wanna go one-on-one with a busted hand?”

“I’d still kick your ass,” Aomine said, and Kagami laughed.

“Man, you haven’t changed at all.” He went into the first aid kit again, still holding Aomine’s hand in one of his, and came out with a bactine wipe. He lifted the paper packaging and used his teeth to tear it open, then tossed the paper to the floor of the ambulance, shook out the damp wipe, and gently started cleaning the grit and blood from Aomine’s hand.

“Is it really busted?” Aomine asked, trying to subtly flex his fingers, but Kagami tightened his grip to keep him still.

“It feels like you may have fractured your index finger. I’m going to recommend you go to the hospital to get it X-rayed after I’ve cleaned you up and bound it a little.”

“I broke my finger.”

“Yep.”

“On a guy’s jaw.”

“That was your handiwork?”

“He tried to feel up Satsuki.”

Kagami paused in his ministrations, not looking up. “Momoi-san’s here?”

“She’s talking to the cops, why?”

“Nothing, I just…” Kagami broke off, and Aomine hissed as he swiped the bactine wipe over a particularly deep cut on Aomine’s middle knuckle. “I haven’t seen her in a while, that’s all.”

“Have you kept in contact with many people from those days?”

“Just Kuroko, mainly. And Kise. He’s hard to get rid of.”

“Like a bad fucking rash,” Aomine grumbled, thinking of the three emails burning a hole in his phone, all from Kise, none of which he had yet read.

Kagami grinned at that. “I talk to people from Seirin, too, but other than that, you’re the first familiar face I’ve seen in years. Oh wait.” He paused, making a face. “Midorima. He works at the hospital, so I’ve seen him a couple of times.”

“He’s a doctor?”

“Surgeon,” Kagami said. “One of the best in Japan, if the rumors in the ED are true.”

“How about that.”

Kagami grunted and tossed away the bactine wipe. He reached next for a roll of thick white medical tape. “Keep your hand steady, and your index and middle finger together, please.”

Aomine obeyed, still too bemused by Kagami’s very presence to feel rebellious, and Kagami began to wrap his fingers. Aomine watched, marveling at the deftness of Kagami’s own fingers, the surety and skill he showed in the task. Aomine supposed he had never really considered Kagami having a job, and certainly not one at which he was particularly gifted. Honestly, the past ten minutes felt like a movie reel from an entirely different universe outside of the reality with which Aomine was familiar, the one in which Kagami was simply a favored high school rival, not a competent, surprisingly friendly, apparently well-balanced paramedic.

It was just too bizarre.

“There,” Kagami said, tearing the last strip of tape. “That should hold you until you can get to the hospital. Do you need me to take you in the ambulance, or—?”

“I can manage,” Aomine said, almost hysterically, shoving away the humiliating image of him riding in the back of an ambulance with Kagami Taiga because of a broken finger and a bruised cheek.

“Fine,” Kagami said, unfazed, “but you’re not driving. Get Momoi-san to take you or someth—”

“Kagamin?”

Both Aomine and Kagami turned to see Satsuki approaching, still wrapped in Aomine’s overlarge jacket, her arms crossed over his torso. Her face brightened as soon as Kagami turned.

“Kagamin, it is you!” she said, and—just to add to Aomine’s utter bafflement with this entire fucking night—she threw herself into Kagami’s arms, hugging him tightly around the neck.

Kagami caught her on instinct, flashing a bewildered glance Aomine’s direction.

“Momoi-san,” he said, gently disentangling himself from her. “It’s, uh. Good to see you. How’ve you been?”

“Oh, fine, fine,” Satsuki said, and damn her, was she _fluttering her eyelashes at him?_ “Just working a lot, taking care of this one—” She smacked Aomine on the arm without even looking at him, eliciting an outraged, “OI!” then continued as though he hadn’t said a thing: “—you know, the usual. So you’re a paramedic now? You’ve done quite well for yourself since high school, Kagamin.”

“I guess so,” Kagami said, rubbing a hand over the back of his head. “It’s not the best hours, but the pay’s pretty good and I get benefits and free time to play ball, so it works out. Where do you work?”

“I’m a paralegal at Sanno Law,” Satsuki said.

“Impressive,” Kagami said, and he looked like he meant it, the bastard.

Aomine cleared his throat, deciding that this—whatever the hell “this” was—had gone on too long.

“So according to Bakagami’s professional opinion, I have to go to the hospital,” he announced to Satsuki, holding up his taped hand. “Can we leave now?”

“You mean you actually broke it?” Satsuki asked with a frown, and even though that wasn’t the reaction Aomine had been going for, it was better than her simpering at Kagami, so Aomine counted it a victory. “Dai-chan, honestly.”

“It’s not like I did it on purpose,” Aomine grumbled.

“Oh, and I suppose that guy’s jaw just accidentally ran into your fist?”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” Aomine snapped, flushing.

“Momoi-san,” Kagami said, cutting off Satsuki just as she opened her mouth to yell at Aomine some more. “Can you drive him to the hospital? He doesn’t want to go in the ambulance, but he really should have a brace put on that finger.”

Satsuki sighed. “Yes, I’ll take him. Come on, you,” she said, hooking her arms around Aomine’s uninjured arm and heaving him to his feet. She turned back to Kagami, and damnit, there was that simpering smile again. “Thanks so much for your help, Kagamin! Maybe we can grab a drink sometime? Or dinner? To catch up.”

Aomine stared at Satsuki like he had never seen her before in his life.

“Sure, that—that sounds great,” Kagami said, his eyes wide. “Do you have my number? It should be the same as it was in high school.”

“Of course I do. Dai-chan!” She turned to Aomine, quick as lightning, her smile becoming strangely sharp. “Why don’t you give Kagami your number, too?”

Aomine just stared. “What?”

“Your _number_ , Dai-chan,” Satsuki said. “So he can _call you_. On the phone. Or mail, whatever works. Here, I have a pen.” She reached into the pocket of Aomine’s jacket and pulled out a plain black ballpoint, which she pushed into Aomine’s left hand before shoving him none too gently toward Kagami.

“I, uh. I don’t have any paper,” Kagami said, looking utterly dumbfounded. For once, Aomine agreed with him completely, but then he caught the cunning glint in Satsuki’s eye and understood what she was up to.

Aomine gritted his teeth, remembering briefly the sharp feeling of adrenaline as he faced Kagami on the basketball court, the pleasant heat at the back of his neck when he’d run into Kagami outside of games for dinner or a pick-up one-on-one, the empty chill in his gut when Kagami left for the States without a real goodbye, and—finally, recently—the warmth of Kagami’s hands, gently brushing his cheeks, searching for wounds.

“Fine,” Aomine growled. He uncapped the pen with his teeth, grabbed Kagami’s wrist, and began to sloppily scrawl his phone number on the soft skin of Kagami’s inner forearm. Once that was done, he capped the pen and tossed it back to Satsuki, then flashed Kagami a crooked grin. “There,” he said, slapping the drying ink. “Now you’ve got no reason not to call.”

“Um. Thanks,” Kagami said, eyeing the numbers.

“You can read it, right?” Aomine lifted his taped right hand. “Sorry. Handicapped.”

“Yeah, I can read it fine, I just…” Kagami broke off and shook his head, then smiled. “Thanks. This is… this is cool,” he said, gesturing toward the phone number.

Aomine grunted and shoved his hands into his pockets; he regretted this immediately when his right hand began to throb.

“Okay, to the hospital with you, Mr. Handicapped,” Satsuki said, coming to the rescue. She took Aomine by the arm again and began to lead him back toward her car, waving at Kagami as she went. “Bye, Kagamin! Thanks again!”

Aomine glanced over his shoulder only once as they walked away. By that point Kagami was too far away for Aomine to properly gauge his expression, but he thought he could see him frowning. Aomine lifted his taped hand in a little wave, and Kagami returned the gesture before turning back to the ambulance.

Well.

Satsuki hustled him into the passenger seat of her car (and buckled him in, despite his insistence that he could manage at least that much himself, thank you very much), and they were on their way to the hospital within a few minutes.

“So,” Satsuki said after a drawn out beat of silence.

Aomine glanced at her, the streetlights gliding across her profile, her hair.

“So what?” he said, turning away.

She flashed him an irritated look. “So _Kagamin_ ,” she said. “You haven’t seen him since he went off to the States for college, and I know how well you took that, Dai-chan.”

Aomine set his jaw, staring out the windshield at the dark road. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, don’t give me that, Aomine Daiki,” Satsuki said sharply. “I’ve known you since elementary school, and I know how you get when you pine, and you pined for that guy back there all the way through high school. Admit it.”

Aomine said nothing, which, with Satsuki, was as good as admitting.

“This could be your chance,” Satsuki continued. “He has your number, and it’s _Kagamin_. He’s going to call. Aren’t you at all excited?”

Aomine grunted noncommittally.

Satsuki sighed. “Well, I’m excited. It’ll be nice to catch up with him, at least, right? Maybe this was fate.”

“Fate, eh?” Aomine asked. “So does that mean you forgive me for punching out the asshole who tried to feel you up?”

“I don’t need to forgive you because I’m not all that mad, really,” Satsuki said. There was a pause, in which she clicked her fingernails against the steering wheel, and then she added, “But yes, this does help.”

The emergency department was pretty quiet when they arrived, and Aomine was escorted right to one of the waiting beds, where an orderly took down his information and the story of what happened (with some help from Satsuki), and then told him to sit tight while a doctor was fetched to X-ray his hand.

“So Midorima works here apparently,” Aomine said as they waited, Aomine slumped on the bed, Satsuki seated in a plastic chair beside him.

“He’s a surgeon here, yeah,” Satsuki said absently, her attention caught by the TV in the corner, playing some weird late night drama.

“Right,” Aomine said, and then her words caught up with him, and he blinked, sitting up straighter. “Wait, how did you know that?”

Satsuki gave him an exasperated look. “I keep in contact with people, Dai-chan.”

“Huh. I wonder if he’s here right now.” Aomine craned his neck to look down the hall, as though he could catch a glimpse of his old teammate if he just searched hard enough.

“I could call him, if you like,” Satsuki offered, “but it’s a little late. What if he’s not working?”

“He could still be awake,” Aomine said. “It’s a Friday night, for god’s sake. Even he shouldn’t go to sleep before one o’clock on a Friday night.”

“Well, even if he is awake, what if I wake up his fianc—?”

“So it’s true,” said a low voice from a nearby elevator, which had just opened to reveal a tall man in a white lab coat, crisp and clean over a dark shirt and tie. He adjusted his glasses with long fingers, smiling slightly. “I thought for sure Kagami was sending me on a wild goose chase.”

“Midorin!” Satsuki said. “We were just talking about you.”

“Kagami told you we’d be here?” Aomine asked, watching Midorima’s approach with narrowed eyes. He wasn’t taping his fingers anymore, apparently, which may have meant that he wasn’t playing as much basketball anymore, but he still seemed to be in good shape, tall and slim and broad-shouldered.

“He said to keep an eye out for an old friend with a broken hand,” Midorima said, “although he did not specify whom.” His lips quirked. “Honestly, I can’t say I’m all that surprised.”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Aomine grumbled. “It’s good to see you too, jackass.”

“Do you mind?” Midorima asked, gesturing at the chart hanging over the bars at the foot of Aomine’s bed.

“Knock yourself out,” Aomine said. Midorima lifted the chart and flipped it open, and Aomine caught sight of a glint of gold on his left hand. “Oi,” he said. “You get hitched or something?”

“Nearly,” Midorima said, his eyes scanning whatever illegible bullshit the orderly had scrawled down before running off to find a doctor.

“Oh yeah, that’s coming up, isn’t it?” Satsuki said, clapping her hands together. “Are you getting excited?”

“Yes,” Midorima said, and Aomine almost did a double take, because yep, that was a genuine smile on Midorima’s face, what the hell. “It’ll be nice once it’s finally official and Takao can stop bothering me with all the preparations.”

“He said it was going to be small, though, right?” Satsuki asked, and damnit, how did she know this shit?

“Just family, yes,” Midorima said.

And then it sank in.

“Wait. You’re marrying _Takao_?” Aomine blurted. “That little point guard from Shuutoku?”

“Well, he’s a pediatrician now, and I’m not sure he’d be thrilled to be referred to as ‘little,’ but yes, I am marrying Takao.” Midorima’s eyes flicked up from the chart. “You look surprised. Did you really not know?”

“No, I—” Aomine broke off, considering. When he looked at it from a new angle—a romantic angle, no less—Aomine supposed that everything about the strange friendship that had blossomed between Midorima and Takao in high school actually made sense: the rickshaw rides, the nigh-psychic awareness of one another on the court, the comfortable bickering, the fact that Takao was literally always with Midorima even though Midorima was, well… Midorima.

“Huh,” Aomine said at last. He shrugged and held out his right hand, automatically going for a handshake. “Congratulations, man.”

Midorima lifted one prim brow. “Thank you, but I’m not touching that until you get your X-rays. I’d hate to do any more damage.”

“Oh yeah, like you could do any damage,” Aomine said with a scowl, lowering his hand. He could feel the flush of embarrassment creeping up his neck, though, and he pointedly ignored Satsuki stifling giggles behind her hands.

Midorima hooked the chart back over the end of the bed and slid his hands into the pockets of his lab coat, looking more relaxed than Aomine had ever seen him.

“Listen, Daisuke-san can be a bit of a flake sometimes, and he’s been on rotation for almost forty hours now,” Midorima said, apparently referring to the harried-looking orderly who had taken down Aomine’s information and then vanished. “I’ll order the X-rays myself, and you should be out of here within the hour. How does that sound?”

“That sounds wonderful, Midorin,” Satsuki said. “Thank you so much.”

“It’s the least I can do.” Midorima started to turn away, but then he paused, glancing at Aomine with a strange, thoughtful expression. “It’s good to see you again, Aomine, circumstances aside. We should keep in touch.”

Aomine stared. “Yeah, sure. Do you need—?”

“I have your number,” Midorima said. When Aomine gave him a suspicious look, Midorima just added, “Kise,” and Aomine nodded.

“Right,” he said. “Well. Thanks, for this.” He waved his bandaged hand. “I appreciate it.”

Midorima nodded, and then he strode away down the hall, white coat billowing.

They didn’t see him for the rest of the night, but the X-rays happened with startling promptness after Midorima left them, and Aomine was sent home with a broken index finger, a heavily taped hand, and a decent number of pain pills, three of which he popped before even getting into Satsuki’s car, to Satsuki’s seething disapproval.

It wasn’t even that his hand and head and lip and—shit, what else had he hurt in that fight? He was starting to lose track—really hurt. He just felt like he could use a bit of numbness to deal with the events of the night.

To deal with the reappearance of Kagami fucking Taiga, of all people.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Aomine groaned, slumping down in the passenger seat. Satsuki glanced at him, but said nothing, only reaching over to briefly thread her fingers through his hair.

She dropped him off at his apartment with a promise to not take anymore pain pills that night and to call her in the morning and to be careful with his hand, it wasn’t too badly broken at the moment but it could always get worse if he did something stupid, so _please_ don’t do anything stupid, and that especially means no basketball, I mean it, Dai-chan.

Aomine leaned over the center console in her little car and tugged her close, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead.

“Thanks, Satsuki,” he murmured, and she batted at him as she pulled away, her cheeks flushed.

“Next time you want to defend my honor, please refrain from breaking any bones, okay?” she said. “It’s just simpler.”

“I make no promises,” he said, and slipped out of the car before she could yell at him.

Luckily in all of the chaos he had managed to keep a hold of his keys, and he breathed a sigh of relief as he let himself into his dark one-bedroom apartment. The keys got tossed onto the counter along with the white paper bag containing his pill bottle and rushed prescription. His jacket (Satsuki had insisted he take it back after her shirt dried, and then Midorima had sent down an extra scrubs top for her, so all of Aomine’s protests had gone unheard) he slung over the back of the nearest kitchen chair.

He trudged into the living room and collapsed facedown onto his overstuffed sofa, letting out a ragged groan.

He couldn’t for the life of him get Kagami Taiga’s stupid face—his stupid, earnest, familiar, goddamn attractive face—out of his mind. He kept picturing those sharp eyes meeting his, closer than they’d ever been before—even on the court—as surprisingly gentle hands had traced his face, searching for wounds. He kept seeing that dumb smile as Kagami had looked down at Aomine’s number scrawled upon his forearm. He kept seeing that stupid, almost baffled wave, and the shock that he had felt mirrored on his own face when they’d first seen each other.

“Fuck,” Aomine moaned again, drawing out the word, muffled into the couch cushion.

And then his phone vibrated.

He broke off, turning his head so that he could peer with one eye to where his phone had sat all night (he’d forgotten it when he headed out to meet Satsuki at the bar and had been scolded accordingly) on his coffee table. The screen was still lit with the notification of a mail, but it dimmed to black even as he stared.

Slowly, reluctantly, Aomine reached out and fumbled for the phone with his right hand, mentally cursing his stiff, taped fingers. He thumbed the screen to bring it to life, and something strange and warm happened in his chest, something that hadn’t happened in almost six years.

He had four missed mails, all from the same number.

The first: _hey it’s kagami. it was good to see you. sorry about your hand. how’d the x-rays go?_

Forty minutes later, a longer message: _seeing as you’re not replying i’m gonna assume you’re either ignoring me or you forgot your phone. or i forgot to diagnose a concussion and you’ve fallen asleep, in which case please apologize to momoi-san for me because i know she’ll have to deal with it._

Fifteen minutes after that: _so we should get a drink sometime. maybe. just to catch up. if you’re free. let me know._

And the last, a mere minute ago: _hope your hand is okay._

Aomine stared at the messages, tiny words in seemingly innocuous text boxes, somehow both utterly ordinary and so, so important. His hand tightened around the phone, making his broken finger ache. The screen dimmed as he stared at the messages, and he tapped it back to life, hardly daring to blink, afraid the messages might disappear the moment he looked away or let his phone go dark.

Kagami had asked him out. This was Kagami _asking him out_. Sure, it was clunky and a little awkward and yeah, over mail, but _still_.

Aomine wondered if Kagami had agonized over the messages before he sent them. Had he typed them out multiple times? Worded and reworded and deleted the whole thing before rewording again? Or had he sent them without a second thought, casual and confident and completely ignorant of how a few words in little glowing text boxes would make Aomine’s blood rush and heart pound?

Aomine took a deep breath and slowly, painstakingly, composed his reply: _hey. the hand is fine. broken, but that’s no surprise. a drink would be great, let me know when you’re free._

He read over the message an embarrassing number of times before hitting send (twenty-one words, it was only _twenty-one words_ , how could you possibly screw up twenty-one words), then resumed his silent staring contest with the phone, his right foot bouncing absently against the couch cushions. Nothing happened for one whole minute, then two. Aomine tongued his split lip, trying to resist the temptation to bite the skin around it, and then started typing again.

_are you still working?_

This time Aomine forced himself to get up and walk away from the phone instead of staring at it like a lovesick teenager, waiting for it to go off. The phone remained on the coffee table while he went to the bathroom to rinse his face with cold water and brush his teeth and stare blankly into the mirror at his bruised face, definitely not listening for the low hum of a phone vibrating against a wooden table. He leaned over the sink and touched a finger gingerly to the shiner on his left cheekbone. It was swollen, already tender, but the broken skin had scabbed over, as had the cut on his lip. He pulled back with a heavy sigh. This would be fun to explain at work on Monday.

His phone vibrated.

Aomine was out of the bathroom and snatching up the phone before he even registered moving. He swiped his thumb across the screen and saw a new message from the same number as before (he should really change the number to Kagami’s name, and shit, there is no reason that should make his stomach flip):

_yeah, night shift goes till 4. glad to hear the hand is fine, if broken, but that’s what you get when you go around punching people. ahomine. i’ll be free before my shift on tuesday night, why don’t we meet at the bar near the hospital around 7?_

Aomine sent his reply before he could over-think it: _careful with the name-calling, bakagami. i’ll see you then._

He paused for a moment, then added: _goodnight._

Then he dropped the phone onto the couch, twitchy with anticipation as he walked around his apartment, locking the front door and flipping off the lights. Once the apartment was dark and secure, he stood above the couch, staring at the space where he knew his phone rested, trying not to think about how insane he was.

The phone lit up with a soft hum, and Aomine lunged for it.

One word greeted him, glowing softly in his hand: _goodnight._

Aomine had no idea how long he stared at the message, but it felt as though hours had passed before he finally clicked off his phone, made his way blindly into his room, and collapsed onto the bed, groaning into his pillow and trying to ignore the giddy knowledge that Kagami Taiga had just wished him a good night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO LIFE IS CRAZY my apologies for taking so long with this update!
> 
> also i've fallen into kpop and i can't get up, please call 911.
> 
> enjoy!

“You know,” Kagami said as he bent over Aomine’s right leg with a huge, terrible, absolutely evil pair of glaringly silver tweezers, “I assumed that the whole exchanging numbers thing would mean we wouldn’t have to meet like this again.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Aomine said through gritted teeth, trying to ignore the sharp pain of the tweezers against his raw skin.

Kagami just grinned and leaned away, depositing a few more pieces of street-grit into a nearby metal pan, where they landed with ringing little _tings_.

“The same patient twice in a weekend, though,” Kagami said, turning back to Aomine’s leg. “I think that’s my record.”

“Look, it’s not like I did it on purpose,” Aomine said. He felt that was a very important point to make.

“I hope not,” Kagami said. “You don’t have to get hit by a car just to—”

“Clipped,” Aomine said. “I got _clipped_ by a car. There’s a big difference.”

“Okay, ‘clipped,’ then,” Kagami said, but Aomine could tell from the curve of his mouth that he was just humoring him. Stupid Kagami. “But the point still stands. You don’t have to get clipped by a car just to get my attention.” He paused in his evil tweezing to point with the tweezers at the scratched-up phone in Aomine’s hand. “That’s what phones are for.”

Aomine just glared, and Kagami shook his head with a little chuckle and went back to picking bits of concrete out of the raw, bloody scrape on Aomine’s outer thigh.

It was Sunday evening, and Aomine was sitting in the back of a paramedic van yet again, with Kagami Taiga fussing over him (yet again) like an overlarge mother hen with evil silver talons.

This was all Kise’s fault, really. Aomine had finally checked his emails to discover that Kise would be returning to Tokyo later that week, and when Aomine had made the mistake of mentioning it to Satsuki (as if she hadn’t already known; that had been his first mistake), she had suggested they throw a little party to celebrate his homecoming, a reunion of sorts with as many of their old friends as Satsuki could find. (So, all of them. Satsuki worked in mysterious ways.)

Aomine had been sent out to fetch drinks for the party, which was apparently going to take place on that Friday night. Why Satsuki had insisted he go shopping on Sunday for a party on Friday, Aomine would never know, but he went, choosing to walk to the nearest grocery store rather than drive for once, and he’d been about three blocks away from the store when the car had clipped him.

It had happened so quickly he barely remembered it. He had been crossing the street—at a crosswalk, no less, he hadn’t even been jaywalking (this time)—when a small green car came barreling towards him, apparently oblivious to both the stop sign and the crosswalk. Aomine remembered diving out of the way, remembered the car grazing his leg, remembered the pain in his side as he skidded across the concrete and the screech of tires as the car came to an abrupt halt farther up the road.

At first Aomine had just been stunned. He had thought that he could just get up and brush himself off and move on with his life, no harm done, but then he realized that he couldn’t stand because his leg was in agony, and the car had come to a full stop, and a hysterical middle-aged woman was running towards him, babbling apologies, tearing a woolen hat from her fly-away gray hair.

Long story short, the authorities had been called, paramedics had shown up, and Kagami had stared at him with wide eyes before recovering from his shock long enough to make sure that Aomine was all right, and after that, to laugh.

And then he had whipped out the evil tweezers.

“Do you think you’ll press charges?” Kagami asked without looking up from Aomine’s leg.

Aomine frowned. “Why would I do that?”

Kagami removed a large bit of grit from a long, bloody scratch near Aomine’s knee. “Because you just got hit by a car.”

“Clipped.”

“ _Clipped_ , whatever, you could still press charges if you wanted.” Kagami got to his feet—it seemed to take him forever to unfold; Aomine felt dizzy looking so far up into his face—and moved over to his medical kit, rummaging for something. Probably another torture device. “I know a guy with connections to some pretty big law firms. I could put you in touch.”

“What guy?”

“Tatsuya,” Kagami said, not even looking up from his rummaging.

Aomine felt the sharp sting of something dark and cold beneath his ribcage. It was definitely not jealousy.

“You’re still friends with him, huh?” he said, aiming for nonchalance and achieving something more along the lines of nausea.

Kagami paused, fixing Aomine with a mildly bewildered glance. “Of course.”

Aomine grunted and shifted a little, trying to ease the ache in his leg. Nope, still not jealous. Just uncomfortable.

“I wonder if Murasakibara still hangs around him all the time,” he said, trying once again to sound casual.

He must have succeeded, because Kagami laughed. “Actually, yeah, they’re still pretty close. Murasakibara works at a bakery now, did you know?”

“I knew,” Aomine said, unable to hold back his own grin. “The job that shocked us all.”

“Right up there with Kise the model,” Kagami said.

“Who would’ve thought,” Aomine said. “He’s coming home in a few days, you know.”

“Kise?”

“Yeah.” Aomine lifted his left shoulder. “I finally checked my messages. That’s actually why I was out tonight. Satsuki’s hosting a party for him on Friday and we needed booze.” Aomine paused, watching Kagami from the corner of his eye. “Hey, you want to come?”

“This Friday?” Kagami paused in his search, his eyes narrowing in thought. “I could probably swing it. Are you sure that’s okay?”

“Of course it is,” Aomine said. “I bet everyone would love to see you. And if not, well.” Aomine grinned, feeling reckless. “You’ll come as my date, and they’ll just have to deal.”

Kagami let out a loud bark of laughter and turned away from his medical kit, grinning at Aomine.

“Sounds like a plan,” he said. “I’ll be right back, I just have to grab something from the front seat.”

Aomine watched him disappear around the corner of the van, then leaned forward and buried his face in his hands, letting out a low groan.

 _You’ll come as my date._ God, what the hell had he been thinking? Inviting him to the party wouldn’t be a disaster—Aomine could already hear Satsuki’s enthusiastic support of the idea, Kise’s bubbly cries of _Kagamicchi!_ , hell, maybe even Midorima would crack a smile, that seemed like more of a possibility now than it ever had been—but why, _why_ , had he felt the need to make a stupid joke about it being a date? He didn’t even know if Kagami was single, if Kagami was interested, if Kagami _liked guys_.

“Idiot,” he growled, too low for anyone else to hear, and then footsteps approached, and Kagami was back.

“So what do you think you’re going to do?” he asked, crouching beside Aomine’s injured leg again.

Aomine blinked. “About what?”

Kagami stared at him as though he was worried for his health, which, given all of Aomine’s recent injuries, probably wasn’t far from the truth.

“Pressing charges,” Kagami said. “For getting clipped. I can still get you in touch with Tatsuya, but you’ll need to know by the time the cops get around to talking to you.”

Aomine looked over to where the middle-aged woman was being questioned by a policeman the size of a bear (who reminded him vaguely of Iron Heart, and seriously, was it only because he’d run into Kagami that he kept getting all these visions of policemen as former high school basketball players, or were the head injuries actually starting to drive him insane?). The woman kept glancing over at him with big, dark eyes, and Aomine could see her hands—tiny, pale things, twisting around her woolen hat—shaking even from across the street.

“No,” Aomine said to the top of Kagami’s head. Kagami was now spreading some cool, slick salve over the scrape, his big hands so oddly gentle that even the sting of the salve didn’t bother Aomine. “No harm, no foul.”

Kagami peered up at him through his bangs, and Aomine swallowed a sudden need to reach out and touch him.

“No harm?” Kagami said, laying a careful hand on Aomine’s leg, and Aomine shrugged.

“It’s not permanent,” he said. “I’ll limp for a bit, but it’s no worse than that time I sprained my knee in high school.”

“I remember that,” said Kagami, frowning slightly. “It scared the crap out of me.”

“Why?”

Kagami shrugged, and Aomine was delighted to see color spreading high on his cheeks. “I don’t know,” Kagami said, “you’d just always seemed invincible on the court, I guess. It was weird to see you go down.”

Aomine had the strangest urge to comfort Kagami, even though the accident had happened years ago, and obviously he’d been fine.

And he said so: “I was fine.”

“I know that now,” Kagami said, and yes, that was definitely a blush. “But I didn’t then, so I just—” He broke off with a quick sigh, then got to his feet once more. “Look, I’m gonna bandage you up, and then you should be good to go, okay? Unless you want more X-rays.”

“I think I’ve hit my X-ray quota for the week.”

“Let’s hope you’ve hit your injury quota, too,” Kagami said with a crooked grin. “And if you haven’t, try messing up your left side for once. You’re gonna get all lopsided.”

Aomine opened his mouth, all ready with a rebuttal, and then his phone went off.

“Oh, shit,” he said, glancing at the screen. “It’s Satsuki.”

“Answer it,” Kagami said, packing the salve into his kit. “She’s gotta be worried.”

Aomine grimaced as he swiped his thumb across the touch-screen. As expected, the screaming started before he even put the phone to his ear.

“—hit by a _car_? Are you freaking _kidding_ me, Aomine Daiki? You do not send me a _text message_ to tell me that you’ve been hit by a freaking _car_ , do you understand me?”

“But Satsuki—“

“Don’t you ‘but Satsuki’ me, you asshole, do you even know how worried I’ve been? You’ve been gone for more than an hour, I get out of the shower expecting you to be home already, and what do I see on my phone but a text message reading—and I quote—‘hit by car, I’m okay, Kagami says hi.’”

“I said I was okay!” Aomine said, trying to ignore Kagami grinning as he packed up his first aid kit. Aomine flipped him the bird.

“Yeah, but ‘okay’ for you can be anything from mildly scraped up to ‘hey-at-least-I’m-still-able-to-walk.’” Satsuki paused, drawing in a ragged breath, and Aomine braced himself for more yelling. Instead, Satsuki said, deadly calm: “Please put Kagamin on the phone.”

Aomine blinked and pulled the phone away from his ear, holding it out to Kagami.

“She wants to talk to you,” he said when Kagami gave him a questioning look.

Kagami went a little pale (from which Aomine definitely took no pleasure, nope, not a bit) and breathed in deeply before taking the phone.

“Momoi-san?” he said. There was a pause, in which Aomine heard Satsuki’s voice, so small and seemingly harmless when not screaming directly into his ear, and then Kagami laughed a little and said, “For once, yeah. His leg will be a little stiff for a while, but it’s just a severe scrape. Nothing seems wrenched or sprained. I’d recommend he ice it for a few nights and stay off it as much as possible, and the bandages should be changed regularly, but it shouldn’t take too long to heal.” Kagami went quiet as Satsuki started talking again, this time sounding much more cheerful, and then Kagami glanced at Aomine and _winked_.

Aomine felt his jaw drop, which of course only made Kagami laugh.

“Yeah, he told me about it,” Kagami said into the phone, turning away to look over the street, and Aomine took the moment to draw in a desperately needed breath, because honestly, since when did Kagami Taiga _wink_? How was that anywhere near fair?

“I may have to switch around my shifts, but I’ll definitely try to make it,” Kagami was saying into the phone, and Aomine realized he was talking about the party that Friday night. Because _of course_ Satsuki would invite him.

Aomine scowled and muttered, “I asked him first,” to nobody in particular.

Kagami laughed at something Satsuki said, and Aomine tried to fight down the warmth that spread through his chest at that familiar, long-missed sound. It was a laugh Aomine would always associate with pick-up games in the park, with the end of high school, with what he now thought back on as “The Good Days.”

Christ, he was getting sappy.

“Sure, I’ll put him on. Yeah… yeah, I’ll see you then. Bye.” Kagami turned, his eyes glinting in the darkening twilight, and offered Aomine his phone back with a smirk. “It’s for you,” he said, his voice still bright with laughter.

Glaring, Aomine snatched the phone back.

“What?” he groused.

“Oh calm down, Kagamin told me you were fine, I’m not yelling anymore, you big baby,” Satsuki said. “Do you need me to come pick you up?”

“Nah, I can get home.”

“Are you sure?”

Aomine saw Kagami pause in the act of unwrapping a few large white bandages. “Yeah,” Aomine said, “it’s only a couple of blocks.”

“Well,” Satsuki said, sounding unconvinced, “if you’re sure. Be careful, I’ll see you soon. And if you get hit by another car on your way home, please at least have the consideration to call this time. I’ll accept no more injury texts.”

“You’re hilarious,” Aomine said. “See you soon.”

He shoved his phone back into his pocket and watched as Kagami peeled the back wrapping from one of the larger bandages.

“What?” Aomine said. “I know you have something to say, so just say it.”

“I’d really feel better if you’d stay off your leg,” Kagami said, gingerly placing the bandage over the largest scrape on Aomine’s thigh, his fingers tracing the edge to get the bandage to adhere to Aomine’s skin. Aomine tried not to think about those fingers too much, nor about how much hair he was likely to lose when the bandages came off. “At least for the next twenty-four hours. Then you can limp about to your heart’s content.”

“I’m not making Satsuki drive less than a minute to pick me up.”

“Then don’t,” Kagami said, reaching for another bandage. “I’ll bring you home.”

“I’m not going home in an ambulance, either.”

Kagami’s brow furrowed as he applied the next bandage, this time to the deep scrape near Aomine’s knee. “Fine, then I’ll walk you.”

“I don’t need—”

“This really isn’t up for debate,” Kagami said, fixing Aomine with a sharp look, and Aomine swallowed the rest of his protests. It was hard to deny Kagami anything when he looked like that.

“Fine,” Aomine said, turning away with a huff, and Kagami gently patted his leg.

“Good,” he said. “One more bandage, a quick chat with the officer over there, and we’ll be off.”

And the chat did go quickly, due to Aomine’s refusal to press charges; that alone would have been enough to make his decision worthwhile, but then the middle-aged woman burst into tears and wringed his hand, blubbering her gratitude, and Aomine knew he’d chosen right.

Kagami was waiting for him after Officer Bear and the woman left.

“Ready to go?” Kagami said. Aomine grunted the affirmative, and Kagami stooped to sling Aomine’s right arm over his shoulders, his left arm snaking around Aomine’s waist, and then they were up.

Aomine staggered for a moment, unprepared for how easily Kagami could bear his weight.

“You good?” Kagami asked.

“Let’s go,” Aomine said through gritted teeth, and they set off down the sidewalk.

The streetlights had flickered on at some point during Aomine’s ordeal. He stared up at them as he hobbled past, quietly envying the dark shadows of all the dead insects caught inside the saffron glow. Their embarrassment was over. His was apparently destined to continue forever.

“Which building are we headed for?” Kagami asked, his voice rumbling close to Aomine’s ear.

“Third on the left in the next block,” Aomine said, jerking his chin toward it. “The one with the black awnings.”

Kagami hummed. “Do you live with Momoi-san, or…?”

“No, she’s just… over a lot. Eating my food. Using up my hot water. The usual.”

“So you guys are still close,” Kagami said.

Aomine glanced at him sidelong, trying to gauge his expression, but they were in between streetlights and it was hard to tell.

“Yeah, we are,” he said, and Kagami nodded.

They walked for about a minute in silence, the only sound their feet on the pavement. Kagami’s fingers were warm around Aomine’s wrist, and if Aomine leaned into Kagami a little more than he normally would, well, neither of them brought it up.

“I can make it from here,” Aomine said outside the glass doors leading into his apartment complex. “Elevators.”

“Okay,” Kagami said, but he didn’t let go of Aomine.

Aomine blinked at him. “What?”

“Oh, nothing, I just…” Kagami broke off, staring at the glass doors, and then he shrugged. “I guess I’ll see you Friday.”

“Friday?” Aomine said. “Why not Tuesday? We had a—” He choked slightly on the word “date,” his own earlier attempt at humor not yet forgotten, and finished lamely with: “—thing.”

Wow.

Kagami grinned—a wry, crooked grin—and finally let go of Aomine’s arm and waist. Aomine hopped a little to adjust to the sudden loss of support.

“Well, if I’m going to make my shifts work so I’m free to go to the party on Friday, then our ‘thing’ is just gonna have to wait,” Kagami said. “And I’m serious, I don’t want to see you before then. No more accidents, okay?”

“I can’t promise anything,” Aomine said.

“Try.” Kagami turned to go.

“Oi!” Aomine said, and Kagami turned, quirking a brow. Aomine realized he had no idea what to say; he just didn’t want Kagami to leave yet. “I’ll, uh. I’ll see you Friday,” he said, and held out a fist, his throat constricting.

Kagami stared wide-eyed at the proffered fist for a moment, and then smiled softly and stepped over to rap his knuckles against Aomine’s.

“Yeah,” he said, turning away again. “See you Friday.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh god life. life is madness.
> 
> BUT at last we have an update - thanks for being patient, and enjoy!

Satsuki, as expected, was utterly _thrilled_ that Aomine had invited Kagami to the party, and she immediately began making the appropriate phone calls. (Why they were deemed “appropriate” or even necessary was beyond Aomine, of course, but because Satsuki had already bullied him into mandatory bed rest, claiming that apparently he couldn’t even be trusted to stand on his own two feet without needing another visit from their friendly neighborhood paramedic, which was simply _not true_ , Aomine was unable to grab the phone away from her and keep her from calling every single one of their friends to let them know that Kagami would indeed be at the party on Friday, and they should all plan accordingly. Whatever that meant.)

“Satsuki, it’s really not a big deal,” Aomine said, his head thrown back against the back of the couch. His injured leg was stretched out onto the ottoman in front of him and covered in a blanket and fresh bandages, all Satsuki’s work, of course. “He’s just coming to the party. It’s not like anything’s gonna happen.”

“You don’t know,” Satsuki called from the kitchen, where she was fixing something for dinner. Aomine could only hope that it was something simple; he was hungry, and he’d rather not have to choke down an inedible Satsuki meal.

“Everybody’s gonna be there,” Aomine said. “I’m not gonna make a move when literally everyone we know is in the same room.”

“Has that ever stopped Midorin and Takao-kun?”

Aomie grimaced. “Fair point. But they’re married.”

“Almost married.”

“Close enough.”

Satsuki stepped out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. “Look, I’m not saying that this has to be your Cinderella-at-the-ball moment or anything, but it’s a start, right? You’re closer to him than you’ve been in years.”

Aomine rolled his head to fix her with a bland stare.

Satsuki lifted her hands. “I’m just saying.”

Aomine was saved from having to comment on that by his phone vibrating across the coffee table. He jerked his head up and reached out his right arm, his fingers flaring inches away from the phone.

“Satsuki,” he whined, drawing out the last syllable, and Satsuki heaved a great sigh and bent to retrieve the phone. She slapped it into his palm a little harder than necessary and stomped away, grumbling under her breath about useless boys.

“Thank you,” he called after her, and then swept his thumb across the screen without even looking at the number. “Yo.”

“Aominecchi!”

Aomine pulled the phone away from his ear just in time to save his eardrum, but the tinny yell still rattled him.

“Kise,” he said once Kise was done, and he made sure to keep his voice at a sane decibel, hoping that Kise might take the hint.

“I hear you ran into our long lost Kagamicchi over the weekend,” Kise said, and although his voice was once again at a human level, Aomine could just hear his smirk.

“Did you now?” Aomine said, trying to keep from grinding his teeth.

“I did,” Kise said. “Although he wasn’t exactly ‘long lost’ to all of us, you know. I’ve kept in relatively consistent contact with him, and he lives with Kurokocchi, for goodness’ sake.”

Aomine sat bolt upright up on the couch. “He _what_?”

“You didn’t know?” Kise actually sounded surprised. “They’ve been living together ever since Kagami came back from the States.”

Aomine slumped back against the couch, staring at his own reflection in the dark window across from him.

“Yeah, I…” He broke off, clearing his throat. “I didn’t know that.”

“Well, it can’t be much of a surprise, right? I mean, they’ve been best friends since high school. It makes sense.”

“Yeah,” Aomine said. “Yeah, it does. Look, did you just want to chat? Because Satsuki and I are gonna be eating here soon, and—”

“Oh sorry, I won’t keep you,” Kise said. “I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be bringing Yukio on Friday. Turns out he’ll be in town after all.”

“Okay, yeah, that shouldn’t be a problem,” Aomine said, and it was true; Kasamatsu was an all right guy, and he kept Kise in line. Usually.

“Great! See you Friday, good luck with dinner,” Kise said.

Aomine grunted. “Yeah, see you.”

He ended the call and let the phone drop to the cushion beside him. His leg ached. He placed his hand gingerly over the largest scrape, feeling the warmth from beneath the bandages, and then _pressed_ , closing his eyes against the pain, drawing air in through his teeth.

“What did Kise want?” Satsuki called from the kitchen.

“He’s bringing Kasamatsu on Friday,” Aomine said, doing his best to keep the strain from his voice.

“I thought Kasamatsu-kun was visiting his parents this weekend.”

“Apparently that fell through.”

“Oh. Well, it’ll be great to have him!”

“That’s what I said.”

“Dinner will be ready soon. How’s your leg?”

“Fine,” Aomine said, gritting his teeth. He eased up the pressure on his leg and let out a sigh of relief, and only then did he feel ready to ask: “So Kagami’s been living with Tetsu, eh?”

“What?” Satsuki sounded distracted; Aomine prayed he wouldn’t start smelling smoke. “Oh yeah, they’ve been living together ever since Kagamin came back to Japan. I thought you knew that.”

“Nope.” Aomine stared at his phone, dark and silent on the couch beside him. “I didn’t know.”

*

By Friday, Aomine was mobile and well on his way to the land of not-limping. Healthy enough, in fact, to do most of the heavy lifting as he and Satsuki prepared his apartment for the party that evening.

“Do we really need this much booze?” Aomine asked as he shoved even more beer into his already bursting fridge.

“I don’t want to run out,” said Satsuki. “Hurry up, they’ll be here soon.”

As usual, Satsuki was right (not that Aomine would ever admit it to her face; he’d never live it down), and there was a knock on the door not fifteen minutes later.

“Can you get that, please?” Satsuki called from the bathroom. “It’s probably Kise.”

Aomine grumbled as he headed for the front door, still in the act of shrugging into his dark button-up. A quick glance through the peephole revealed blond hair and a blinding grin, and Aomine inhaled deeply, steeling himself before opening the door.

“Hello, Aominecchi!” Kise crowed, and then there were long, wiry arms wrapped around his neck and a dry kiss pressed to his cheek.

“Welcome back,” Aomine said, awkwardly patting Kise’s back, and Kise stepped away, still beaming.

“Are we the first ones here?” he asked, and Aomine was confused for a moment about the “we” until he saw Kasamatsu standing in the doorway, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

“Yeah, you are,” Aomine said, stepping aside to let them both inside. “Make yourselves comfortable. Satsuki’ll be out as soon as she’s done primping.”

“Don’t make me smack you, Aomine Daiki,” Satsuki said as she turned the corner, her hair pinned up, black skirt swaying around her hips. She and Kise hugged and started cooing to each other about the perfume she was wearing and Kise’s new jeans and that spread he had coming up in Elle or Esquire or whatever, so Aomine turned to offer Kasamatsu his hand.

“Yo,” he said as they shook; Kasamatsu’s palm was a little sweaty, which honestly was to be expected from anyone preparing for a night of drinking with this crew, but his grip was firm. “Long time no see. How’re things?”

“Things have been… quiet,” Kasamatsu said, his lips curving wryly. “But they’re better now.” His gaze flicked over to Kise as he spoke, and his expression softened. “He kinda fills the apartment when he’s home, you know? It’s lonely without him around.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Aomine said. Kise had always had a certain presence about him, something that made him seem brighter than everyone else, larger than life, always the center of attention. Whether it was because of his charm or his demeanor or his general propensity for making noise, Aomine had never really decided, but he could only imagine how achingly silent Kise’s giant apartment had to be without him around to fill it.

“So how’s the hand?” Kasamatsu asked, gesturing toward Aomine’s still-bandaged right hand. “And the leg?”

“Healing,” Aomine said, a simple answer that he’d prepared for the million times he was sure to be asked about his injuries that night. “They should both be fine in a week or two.”

“Good, good.”

“How’s the teaching going?” Aomine asked, trying his damnedest to avoid an awkward silence.

“The kids are attempting Beethoven at our next concert,” Kasamatsu said, cringing slightly. “I’ll let you guess how that’s going.”

Aomine let out a huff of laughter, then looked over at Kise and Satsuki, who still had their heads together, talking about something called peplum. Aomine glanced at Kasamatsu, who was watching the same scene with a fond, longsuffering smile.

“You want a beer?” Aomine said.

“Hell yes.”

*

It was past nine by the time the last member of their party showed up (Akashi, of course, fashionably late as always, looking impeccable in a neatly tailored pinstripe suit, probably arriving straight from his office), and the festivities were well under way.

Murasakibara had been the next to show up after Kise, dragging along none other than Himuro Tatsuya. Aomine had felt a small pang upon seeing Himuro (Himuro, who had apparently never lost contact with Kagami over the years; Himuro, who let Kagami call him by his first name; Himuro, who was simply too damn attractive), but then Aomine noticed the way Murasakibara hovered over Himuro, the way Murasakibara’s fingers would find Himuro’s sleeve and tug, keeping him close, the way Himuro would lean gently into Murasakibara’s side as though it were the most natural thing in the world… and suddenly it all made sense.

Honestly, Aomine was surprised he hadn’t realized sooner.

Midorima and Takao had shown up soon after, bringing wine and a surprise inspection of Aomine’s hand.

“It’s fine,” Aomine had insisted, trying to wrest his hand away from Midorima’s probing, but Midorima always had been surprisingly strong, and the examination was completed with a hum of reluctant satisfaction and the admission that yes, everything seemed to be healing nicely.

And then Takao had raised his hand to Aomine with an impish grin, saying, “That’s awesome, high-five!” And Midorima had dragged his fiancé off to greet Satsuki.

It hadn’t been until Kagami had shown up a half hour later (with Kuroko, of course, which made sense, considering they were living together) that Aomine had started really partying in earnest.

Or, well. Drinking. But he figured that went along with partying, anyway.

Aomine had exchanged a brief, bright greeting with Kagami when he and Kuroko had first arrived, but Aomine hadn’t been able to get Kagami alone ever since. Apparently everyone wanted to catch up with Kagami, and Kagami seemed to be completely fine with having his time monopolized by everyone except Aomine.

So Aomine had watched as Himuro grabbed Kagami into a tight, one-armed hug (his other hand was still being held by a hilariously petulant Murasakibara). And he’d watched as Kagami exchanged handshakes and congratulations with Takao and Midorima, presumably for the engagement. And he’d watched as Kise slung an arm over Kagami’s shoulder and whispered something in his ear, something that had made Kagami laugh, a big, booming laugh that filled the room and made Aomine’s heart lurch.

And now Aomine was still watching, deep into his fifth (sixth?) beer of the night, as Kagami and Kuroko challenged Kise and Kasamatsu to some kind of drinking game that involved cards and a beer can and thumb wars, apparently.

“What are you doing?”

Aomine choked on his beer, startled, and Satsuki stepped over to give him a couple of perfunctory pats on the back.

“Dai-chan, he’s _here_ ,” she said, tilting her eyes meaningfully towards the living room, where Kagami was letting out a triumphant cry as he pinned Kasamatsu’s thumb. “Drinking. Having fun. Hanging out with your friends. And you’re in the kitchen pining instead of spending time with him.”

“I’m not pining,” Aomine said, but then Satsuki fixed him with a Look, and he took a morose swig of beer.

“Look,” Satsuki said, “if you’re not out there socializing in five minutes, then I’m pulling out the photo albums.”

Aomine glowered. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I’ve come to terms with my chubby childhood stage,” Satsuki said with a breezy shrug. “Have you?”

And with that, she whirled and left him in the kitchen.

Aomine glumly took another sip of his beer. He watched as Kuroko won some sort of staring contest against Kise, and he and Kagami bumped fists, laughing. Aomine had always known that the two of them were close. It would make sense for them to have taken the next step. He compared their behavior to that of Midorima and Takao, to Kise and Kasamatsu, to Murasakibara and Himuro (who were now lounging on the couch chatting with Akashi, one of Murasakibara’s long arms looped casually around Himuro’s waist).

The comparison made Aomine’s stomach sink. He drained his beer.

One more drink. One more, and he’d go out.

*

Someone had dimmed the lights, and there was music playing, thumping music with too much bass that was sure to piss off Aomine’s neighbors, but fuck it, it was a Friday night, and they’d just have to deal.

Kise, Kasamatsu, and Satsuki were dancing in the living room, the couches and coffee table having been pushed against the walls to create a proper dance floor. One of the couches was taken up by Murasakibara and Himuro, who were wrapped around each other doing god knows what, but hey, their clothes were still on, and that was all that really mattered to Aomine.

Midorima and Akashi were having some sort of drunken philosophical discussion in the kitchen, where there was at least one actual light on. They were seated at the kitchen table across from each other, deep in conversation, and Takao was seated on Midorima’s left, his head on the table, either sleeping or trying not to vomit, Aomine couldn’t be sure, but Midorima’s left hand was in Takao’s hair, stroking idly, the gold of his ring glinting in the dim light.

Aomine leaned against the wall in the living room, watching Satsuki and Kise sway together as Kasamatsu paused to take another shot. (Aomine couldn’t remember who had brought out the shots in the first place, but the vodka was smooth and expensive, so Aomine suspected Akashi.)

Something large and warm pressed against his right side, and Aomine turned his head to see Kagami leaning against the wall beside him, his eyes gleaming in the dark.

“Hey,” Kagami said. “Haven’t seen you much tonight.”

“You were schmoozing,” Aomine said, trying not to think about how easy it would be for him to flex his fingers and grab Kagami’s hand, thread their fingers together like love-struck high schoolers.

Well. It would’ve been easy if his hand hadn’t been broken. It was a nice thought, all the same. Aomine shoved it away.

“Looks like the schmoozing is done for tonight,” Kagami said, raising his eyebrows as the couch protested whatever it was Murasakibara and Himuro were doing. “I got Kuroko all set up in the bathroom, he might stay there for the night, if that’s okay.”

“Worse things have happened,” Aomine said with a shrug. “At least you found him. He disappeared there for a while.”

“He does that,” Kagami said with a fond smile, and Aomine bit his tongue. He lifted his beer to his lips ( _Was this his eighth? Ninth? He lost count somewhere along the road_ ), took a long draught, and then turned to Kagami.

“Are you and Tetsu together?” he asked.

Kagami blinked at him. “What?”

“You and Tetsu,” Aomine said again. “Are you dating? Is that why you live together?”

“What? No. Why would you—?” Kagami shook his head, his brow furrowed in bewilderment. “We live together to save on rent, that’s all. We’re just friends.” He paused, tilting his head. “Is that why you’ve been avoiding me all night? You thought I was dating Kuroko?”

Aomine scoffed and turned away, taking another drink of beer. Somehow it tasted better than it had all night.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “I wasn’t avoiding you. I was letting you get caught up with the people you haven’t had to put back together twice in the same week.”

“Sure,” Kagami said, but he was grinning. “Okay. We’ll go with that for now. But just so you know, I’m definitely not seeing Kuroko.” He paused; Aomine watched him from the corner of his eye. “I’m definitely not seeing _anyone_ , actually. So… there’s that.”

Aomine turned his head, staring just enough for Kagami to feel his gaze and glance at him, looking a little embarrassed, and then it was the most natural thing for Aomine to set down his beer, raise his left hand to Kagami’s cheek, and lean in for a kiss.

Kagami made a surprised sound when their lips touched, but he didn’t pull away, so Aomine closed his eyes and tilted his head and swept his tongue across Kagami’s lips, letting out a breath of relief when they parted. He felt a hand on his waist and another on his bicep, squeezing tightly, and he leaned into the kiss a little more, stepping around to press himself against Kagami, to press Kagami against the wall.

“Wait,” Kagami said, breathless, pulling away from the kiss. “We should slow down.”

“Why?” Aomine pressed his lips to Kagami’s pulse point and started to kiss his way down, following the long line of Kagami’s throat.

“Because this is literally only the—third time? Maybe? That we’ve actually seen each other after six years of not even speaking.” Kagami hissed as Aomine scraped his teeth against his skin. “So I feel like we should wait.”

Aomine pulled back, fixing Kagami with a flat stare. “Please tell me you don’t want to wait another six years before we have sex.”

Kagami smacked him, just the flat of his palm against Aomine’s shoulder. Aomine squawked and rubbed the spot; it hadn’t been a very hard hit, but, well, Kagami was a big guy.

“Don’t be stupid,” Kagami said. “I just don’t want to rush this, okay?”

It might have been the alcohol, it might have been the constant dull throbbing in Aomine’s clenched right hand, but something curdled sickeningly in Aomine’s gut at those words, and he felt his cheeks burn with shame.

“Fine,” he snapped, lurching away from Kagami; empty beer cans rattled at his feet and he almost stumbled, but he ignored the way that Kagami reached for him, dark eyes concerned. “Enjoy the rest of the fucking party,” Aomine said, turning away. “I’m going to bed.”

“Aomine—”

“I’m going to bed!” Aomine’s voice carried over the thumping bass and he could feel eyes on him—Satsuki, looking hazily concerned; Kise, eyes half-lidded and still strangely sharp—but he refused to meet their gazes. He hunched his shoulders and stormed away, down the dark hallway and into his room. He slammed the door behind him and slumped against it, his head thudding dully against the wood.

“ _Goddamnit_ ,” he growled, and slid all the way to the ground, pulling his knees to his chest. He could still feel the bass thumping through his head, discordant with the pulse thudding in his veins, and beneath that, he imagined he could hear voices whispering about him from out in the living room, familiar voices, worried voices, voices he wished he couldn’t imagine so clearly.

Kise would probably ask after him first, trying to sound flippant but unable to completely hide his concern: _What was that about?_

Satsuki would answer, accompanied by a light sigh as she watched his closed bedroom door: _Just leave him be. He’ll cool down soon enough._

And then… 

_Should I go talk to him?_

Kagami.

Aomine curled himself into a tighter ball, clutching his knees to his chest. He knew he was being childish. He just wasn’t used to wanting something like this—hell, he wasn’t used to wanting some _one_ like this—and it was like everything with Kagami meant so much more, like every interaction was that much more important, every rebuttal that much more painful. He’d thought he was past this point, that he’d dealt with these feelings in high school or in those terrible months after Kagami had left for the States with barely a goodbye, but clearly the wounds were as raw as ever, if even the slightest rebuff could make him feel this hollow.

“Fuck.” Aomine rested his forehead on his arms, staring into the dark cradle of his lap. Had he just screwed everything up? Whatever progress they had made over the past week—all of his bruises, scrapes, humiliation, _actual broken bones_ —had it all been for nothing?

He heaved a sigh, letting his head fall back to thud lightly against the door.

And then his phone vibrated.

Aomine blinked up into the darkness, the room spinning slowly around him. He fumbled blindly at the pocket of his jeans until he managed to produce his phone, which was a miracle, really, because he was sure he’d lost it sometime during the third round of flip-cup.

He lifted the phone above his face, clicked it into life, and squinted at it, blinded by the sudden light.

He had a message from Kagami Taiga.

Stunned, Aomine slid his thumb across the screen to open it.

 _the party’s kind of winding down_ , it read, _so i’ll be heading home soon. it was good seeing you tonight. i’m sorry about before – i hope we’re still okay. i’d like to see you again, if you’re up for it. just let me know._

Aomine stared at the message until his phone dimmed, his heart thudding in the base of his throat. Just as he was about to tap the phone back to life, the screen lit up again with another message:

_goodnight._

And then another, a few seconds later:

_don’t forget to drink water._

Aomine took a deep breath and slowly pressed the phone to his forehead. The room was still spinning around him and he still felt like an ass and he wanted nothing more than to just lie down and pass out, but Kagami Taiga wanted to see him again.

Aomine pulled the phone away from his face, ran a thoughtful hand over his jaw, and then started typing:

_we’re good. i’m sorry too, and yeah ofc i’m up for seeing you again. we can decide on a date when i can see straight again. i’ll drink water before i pass out, never fear. goodnight._

He read it over four times, careful to correct any and all typos (a process that was made much more difficult due to the letters swimming all over the screen, thank you very much, beer number nine), and then he pressed send.

Releasing a breath, he let his head fall back again, and he closed his eyes.

Kagami Taiga wanted to see him again. 


	4. Chapter 4

Aomine awoke with a mouth like sandpaper, a throbbing behind his eyebrows, and a dead cell phone clutched in his broken hand.

“Hrrghrngod,” he said, curling tighter around his roiling stomach. Something cool and sharp dug into his hip as he shifted ( _belt buckle?_ ), and he groaned again, burying his face in his pillow. At some point during the night he had lost his shirt and socks, but his watch was still pinching his left wrist and his jeans were twisted too tightly around his bandaged leg, which pulsed at him in a dull beat, over-warm and achey.

He could hear movement in the kitchen, muffled by the closed door of his bedroom: the distant clatter of dishes, the low murmur of voices, the familiar trickle of coffee into a pot.

The party was coming back in sparks and images: throbbing music, familiar laughter, sharp smell of alcohol, Kagami’s hand on his waist.

_Kagami._

Aomine inhaled and turned his head to look at his cell phone. He thumbed the home button, despite the way his hand throbbed at the movement, and narrowed his eyes when the screen stayed stubbornly dark.

Dead.

Stupid phone.

Three sharp raps sounded on his door.

“You alive in there, Dai-chan?” It was Satsuki. Of course it was. Aomine grunted in response. “Ah, there you are.” Her voice was chipper and far too bright, like ice crystals in sunlight. “I’m heading home to clean up and run some errands, but Tetsu-kun is still here, so don’t come out of your room naked, okay?” Aomine grunted again, and Satsuki knocked twice more. Loudly. “And don’t mope in there all day. You’re a grown man.”

“Weren’t you leaving?” Aomine said, mostly into his pillow, but he heard Satsuki’s tinkling laugh.

“I’ll see you later, Dai-chan. Drink some water.”

“I’ll show you water,” Aomine grumbled, and was immediately relieved that he hadn’t said that loud enough for her to hear; he was apparently too tired and too hungover for anything even remotely resembling coherency.

It was an effort to shove himself upright, but he managed it, staring around his dark room, his eyes landing on the heap of clothes on the floor near his bed and the glass of water and bottle of ibuprofen that someone had placed on his nightstand. He smiled a little at that— _good old Satsuki_ —and then popped three of the tablets, forced himself to swig some water to wash them down, and leaned down to extricate a semi-clean shirt from the nearest pile of clothes. After a moment’s pause, he stooped to retrieve his phone charger, too, and plugged in his quite-dead phone.

The rest of the apartment was exceedingly bright.

Aomine squinted against the glare of late-morning sunlight as he limped down the hall and into the kitchen, probably doing a fair impression of a Romero-era zombie. There weren’t nearly as many beer bottles and cups left over as he’d thought there would be, which meant that someone (or multiple someones) had cleaned up the night before, and Aomine took another moment to thank the lord for Momoi Satsuki.

“Good morning,” said a quiet voice from the table, and there sat Kuroko, hair sticking up in a million angles, curled up in one of Aomine’s kitchen chairs, nursing a steaming cup of tea. He was wearing the same clothes he had worn the night before, with the addition of one of Aomine’s old Touou zip-ups, which was still—even after all of these years—far too big on him.

“Morning,” Aomine muttered, heading straight for the coffee pot.

“How did you sleep?”

“Like a fucking rock.” Aomine poured himself an almost overflowing cup of coffee and shuffled back over to the table, setting the mug down before he spilled. “You?”

“Fine,” Kuroko said. “Your bathroom floor is surprisingly comfortable when covered in blankets and pillows.”

Aomine paused, staring hard at the faded wood-grain of the table, his heart thudding a little too hard. “Let me guess. Kagami?”

“Who else?” A moment to take a sip of tea, and then: “I hear you were kind of an ass last night.” Kuroko held his mug just below his lips, peering at Aomine through a thin veil of steam.

Aomine slumped into the chair across from him and leaned forward, elbows on the table, pounding head in his hands. “Yeah, well, what else is new?”

“I thought _you_ were.”

Aomine slanted a glance his way, but Kuroko’s face was as blank as ever.

“Sorry to disappoint,” Aomine said.

“If you hurt Kagami-kun’s feelings, I’ll pummel you.”

“What makes you think I was the one doing the hurting?” Aomine snapped.

Kuroko fixed him with a patented _Aomine-kun-please_ look, and Aomine subsided, muttering, “Yeah, well, I apologized.”

“Actually apologized, or Aomine-apologized?”

Aomine made a face. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means,” Kuroko said, curling his fingers around his mug, “that you have a way of apologizing in which you refuse to admit that you’ve actually done something wrong, but the party to whom you’ve just ‘apologized’ becomes convinced that you have indeed atoned and should be forgiven. It’s like apologizing without actually apologizing. You’re quite good at it.”

“Well, I said I was sorry, even if I didn’t go into a lot of detail about it,” Aomine said, his face flushing. “I was drunk and it was over mail, there’s only so much I could do.”

Kuroko gave him a blank stare. “Over mail.”

“Look, what do you want from me?” Aomine snapped. “The party was over, he was leaving, we were texting, it was convenient. That’s all.”

Kuroko sighed and took another sip of tea. “It doesn’t really matter what I want,” he said. “But I do want my friends to be happy. I want you to be happy, Aomine-kun.” He fixed Aomine with a sharp look, the same look he used to give on the basketball court when he wanted his opponents to know that he meant business. “I want Kagami-kun to be happy.”

Aomine tapped a fingernail against the side of his mug, avoiding Kuroko’s gaze. “Yeah, well, so do I.”

“Then there are a few questions I would like to ask you, if you will allow.”

“It’s too early for this, Tetsu.”

“I think it’s the perfect time,” Kuroko said, “considering how rarely I see you now, which I don’t very much enjoy, I have to say.”

Aomine softened a little at that. “Me neither. We should fix that.”

“We should,” Kuroko said, nodding. “But before we do, let’s figure out you and Kagami-kun.”

“What is there to figure out?” Aomine asked.

“Why now?” Kuroko asked. “Not counting the years Kagami-kun was abroad, why wait so long to pursue anything? You two danced around each other all throughout high school—”

“We did not _dance_ —”

“You danced,” Kuroko insisted, his eyes glittering, and damn, sometimes Aomine just wanted to punch him. “And neither of you ever made a move. Why?”

Aomine slumped further down in his chair, tracing one finger over the handle of his coffee mug.

“I dunno,” he muttered. “I just didn’t get it back then, I guess. It was too… new. Too big. I didn’t know how to handle it.” He lifted his coffee mug, took a searing sip, grimaced as he briefly mourned his lost tastebuds. “Still don’t, really.” He glanced up at Kuroko, who was watching him impassively, looking oddly solemn for someone whose hair was still sticking up at a million different angles. “Look, did he say goodbye to you? Before he left?”

Kuroko’s brow furrowed. “When, last night?”

“No, dumbass, for college. To the States.”

“Oh.” Kuroko slowly put down his tea, his lips pursed in thought. “Yes. We grabbed dinner a couple of nights before he left. It was nice. And rather sad.”

Aomine grunted. He stared in silence into the depths of his coffee mug for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice didn’t sound like his own: “You know he didn’t even say goodbye to me, right? Didn’t even leave a message. It was like one day we were playing pick-up games in the park, and the next he was gone.” Aomine absently jostled his left knee, his fingers tightening around his mug. “I didn’t know what to take from that.”

“Aomine-kun.”

“And then he never got in contact with me again,” Aomine continued, ignoring Kuroko’s quiet interjection. “And I guess I thought he was done with me. With all of us. I don’t know.” Aomine lifted one shoulder in a lazy shrug. “I was a kid. And I didn’t try to get in contact with him, either, because I was angry as all hell that he’d just pick up and leave like that, so I’m probably at least partially to blame, but still, it sucked, and it hurt more than it should have, and I guess I never really dealt with it.”

“Aomine-kun,” Kuroko said again, a bit more forcefully this time. “Have you talked to Kagami-kun about this?”

Aomine let out a humorless bark of laughter. “When would I have talked to him about it? When he was on the other side of the world? Or when he was digging concrete out of my leg?”

“Aomine-kun—”

“Whatever.” Aomine took another scalding swig of coffee ( _fuck why did he do that, there went any feeling he might have had in his mouth_ ), slammed the mug down, and shoved himself away from the table, chair scraping too loudly across the tile floor. “I’m gonna grab a shower, I feel like I’ve been sweating beer all night. You good out here?”

Kuroko’s face was still carefully blank, but his pale eyes were so steady on Aomine’s face that they might as well have been burning holes into his skin.

“I’m fine,” Kuroko said.

“Great, I’ll be out in a bit. Help yourself to food or something.”

It was only after he’d closed the bathroom door behind him and slid to the cool tile floor that Aomine realized he was shaking. He’d never spoken so openly about what he’d gone through after Kagami had moved away. At the time, he’d dealt with it mostly by punching a few pillows, throwing his phone, angrily shooting hoops on his own, pulling away from the rest of his friends. It had always seemed so strange to him that no one else had seemed bothered by Kagami’s abrupt departure. Kuroko had been quieter, sure, and Satsuki and Kise had made the odd off-handed comment about how they wished Kagami was hanging out with them, but for no one else did it seem like the world had just been pulled out from beneath their feet, like there was suddenly a hole in their lives, an absence that was so overwhelming it felt almost tangible. Everyone else had gone on to different cities, to different colleges, to different lives, like nothing had changed.

Only Aomine was left behind.

Aomine pulled his knees to his chest, ignoring the way his injured leg ached, and buried his still-throbbing head in his arms.

“Stupid,” he muttered. He remained like that for a few minutes, until he realized that Kuroko would probably be listening for the shower, so he struggled to his feet and turned the spray on scalding.

*

The rest of the day passed in a hungover, pain-addled blur. Kuroko did not, bless his heart, bring up the Kagami situation again, but he did leave while still wearing Aomine’s Touou zip-up, which Aomine found both extremely annoying and rather endearing, considering it was most likely Kuroko’s way of ensuring that they would see each other again soon.

Aomine was lying on his bed in the dark, staring blankly at the air-conditioning vent above his head and waiting for his third round of ibuprofen to kick in, when his phone started to buzz across the nightstand. He flopped over onto his side with a grunt and reached for it blindly, smacking first the hard edge of his alarm clock and then his lampshade, knocking it askew. The phone was on its fourth vibration by the time he grabbed it, and he hardly glanced at it before yanking out the charger cord and swiping his thumb across the screen.

“Yeah?” he said, rolling onto his back, placing his bandaged hand over his eyes.

Familiar laughter greeted him, tinny in his ear but still enough to make his heart stutter.

“You sound like hell, dude,” Kagami said. “How’re you feeling?”

“Probably about as good as I sound,” Aomine said.

“Have you been drinking water?”

“Like a fucking fish.”

“Good. Drink more.”

Aomine slid his hand down from his eyes to his mouth, briefly covering the stupid grin that was trying to creep onto his face.

“Let me guess,” he said. “You’re not feeling the slightest bit hungover because you hydrate all the time like a proper human being.”

“Well, that, and I also didn’t pound eight beers in four hours.”

Aomine covered his eyes again. “Ugh, god. I didn’t even keep count.”

“There’s your problem.”

Aomine just groaned.

“Hey.” There was concern in Kagami’s voice now, low and warm. “Is this an okay time to call? Sorry, I didn’t even think that you might be napping or something, I can call back—”

“No, this is fine,” Aomine said, because even though his head was still pounding and he suspected that he might throw up if he sat upright too quickly, talking to Kagami was still preferable to, well… not talking to Kagami. “This is good. What’s up?”

“Nothing, really, I just wanted to check in,” Kagami said. “Maybe see what you were doing tomorrow night.”

“Tomorrow night,” Aomine parroted, frowning into his fingers. “Tomorrow night is…”

“Sunday night.”

“Right.”

“And I have the day shift.”

“Mm-hm.”

“Which means I would be free to grab dinner,” Kagami said. “With you. If you want.”

Aomine stared at the ceiling. The sun was starting to go down, and his blinds cast broad, slatted shadows across the ceiling and onto the walls, alternating black and subdued, glowing gold. His throat felt thick, like it was full of cotton, but he managed to speak past it, croaking out a reply. 

“Yes,” Aomine said. “I want to. Grab dinner. That would be great.”

“Good,” Kagami said, and there was relief in his voice. “Okay. Cool. I’ll text you the name of the place, it’s this pub near the hospital that—”

“I’m sorry,” Aomine blurted.

Silence on the other end of the line, followed by a quiet, “What?”

“For last night,” Aomine continued, barreling on, trying not to think too much, but he had to get this out, he could feel the words catching in his throat, choking him, making it hard to breathe. “I was a dick to you, and I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that, and being drunk is no excuse, I know, but I was, and I’m sorry about that, too, and I’m generally just the worst at this kind of shit, and that’s not really an excuse, either, but it’s the best I can give you, and I’ve felt awful about it all day, even after you messaged me last night, and basically I just fucked up, so I’m sorry, okay? I want to make it up to you.”

Aomine’s ears were ringing by the time he finished, deafening in the quiet of his room. He was sure that Kagami could hear his heart beating over the line and oh, god, why did he say all of that, why couldn’t he ever just learn to shut up and not ramble, what if Kagami chose not to forgive him, or laughed at him, or hung up and never called him again, or—

“Okay.”

The death grip Aomine had on his phone loosened a little, and he almost dropped it onto his pillow.

“O-okay?” he said.

“Yeah,” Kagami said, and Aomine could hear the smile in his voice. “You can make it up to me tomorrow night by paying for dinner. Deal?”

Aomine let out a quiet laugh. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, it’s a deal.”

“Great. Seven o’clock. I’ll text you the address.”

“Sure,” Aomine said. “That sounds great.”

“Awesome, I’ll see you—” Kagami broke off, and Aomine heard a quiet, muffled voice in the background, followed by Kagami—his voice also softer, more distant, as though he’d pulled away from the phone’s speaker—saying, “What’d you say? Oh.” When Kagami spoke again, his voice was once again at a normal volume: “Kuroko says he’ll give you back your sweatshirt the next time he sees you, and thanks so kindly for lending it to him.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Aomine grumbled. “Sneaky bastard. Tell him I expect it to be washed.”

Kagami relayed the message, clearly amused, and this time Aomine caught Kuroko’s quiet voice saying, “Probably for the first time since high school,” followed by Kagami’s quiet snort of laughter.

“Say that to my face, Tetsu!” Aomine barked into the phone, and Kagami laughed.

“Jesus, okay, I’m gonna go before I lose an eardrum to your bickering,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Get some rest.”

“Don’t worry, I plan to sleep from now until our date,” Aomine said, the words coming out before he could properly process them, and then he froze, the word _date_ echoing dizzily through his mind.

“That’s probably a good idea,” Kagami said, sounding completely unfazed. “Have a good nap, Aomine.”

“Thanks,” Aomine said. He hoped he didn’t sound as stunned as he felt. “See you tomorrow.”

They hung up, and Aomine let the phone drop onto the bedspread at his side as he stared once again at the air conditioning vent on his ceiling.

_Date_ , he thought. The word seemed to swirl in the air around him, performing a drunken dance in the darkness, and that’s how he fell asleep, still staring up at the ceiling, that word running constantly through his mind: _Date. Date. We have a date._

*

If Aomine had been worried about what to do when he first saw Kagami for their date the next day— _a handshake was too formal, a kiss was far too intimate, a fist-bump too casual and out of place, Christ, what the fuck did people do when they first saw their dates?_ —those worries flew from his mind as soon as he caught sight of Kagami waiting for him outside the restaurant.

“What the hell happened to you?” Aomine blurted, automatically reaching out to touch the thick, white bandage covering Kagami’s right eyebrow.

Kagami leaned away from his hand, grimacing.

“Nothing, it’s fine,” he said. “This bear of a guy took a couple of swings in the back of the ambulance this morning when he was coming to and one of them caught me. It’s no big deal.”

Aomine stared at him. “You mean to tell me that a half-conscious guy split your face open?”

Kagami flushed slightly. “Well, technically a shelf split my face open, but the guy punched me into it. Look, can we just grab a table so I can order a beer? It’s been a day.”

They entered the restaurant and flagged down the hostess, who settled them at a cozy little booth near the back of the pub, and as soon as she left them with their menus and some waters, Aomine leaned across the table to peer more closely at the bandage.

“Stitches?” he asked.

Kagami’s eyebrow twitched. “Yes.”

“How many?”

“Four,” Kagami said, pointedly not looking up from his menu.

Aomine laughed. 

“Is my injury really that amusing to you?” Kagami asked with a glare.

“No, sorry,” Aomine said, still grinning. “I’m just reveling in the fact that for once I’m not the one who’s all beat up.”

“Yeah, well, the night is young,” Kagami said. “Give it time.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Not as much anymore.” Kagami made an aborted gesture, as though he were going to reach up and touch the bandage, but stopped himself before he could. “I took something for the pain, so I should be good for a while.”

“Look at us,” Aomine said, carefully flexing his bandaged right hand. “Two walking disasters.”

Kagami smirked. “So just like old times, right?”

“You got that right,” Aomine said with a laugh, and then he sat back to look at his menu, and just like that, they settled into a comfortable groove. It almost felt like they were back in high school, grabbing a bite to eat after a game of one-on-one in the local park; it was like none of the intervening years had happened, as though they had never been parted, had never spent years apart, not talking, worlds away, completely unaware of what the other was doing.

They made small talk over their meals, everything they hadn’t been able to cover while Kagami had been patching up Aomine or while Aomine had been nigh-blackout drunk at the party: college, careers, old friends, and—naturally—basketball. Kagami talked about his time playing in the NCAA, and Aomine regaled Kagami with tales of his quest (and failure) to find a worthy rival in Japanese college basketball.

It wasn’t until their plates had been cleared and they were left with only half-empty mugs of beer to nurse that a silence fell over the table, not uncomfortable, but heavy with things still left unsaid, at least in Aomine’s perception. He curled his fingers around the lukewarm beer mug, staring into the dark, honey-colored depths. Kagami’s eyes were on the TV over the bar, which was showing some unfamiliar foreign sport that Aomine could neither follow nor hear ( _something involving bats and sticks and a bowler of some sort, it was all Greek to him, and honestly, what was the point of a sport in which you couldn’t slam the ball into a net and earn an obvious point, anyway?_ ). Kagami propped his chin on his palm as he watched the game, clearly content in the silence, and Aomine couldn’t help but stare at him, taking in that familiar profile, bandage and all, those sharp, dark eyes, that unruly and unbelievably soft-looking hair, and finally the silence was more than he could bear.

“You didn’t say goodbye.”

The words were out before Aomine could catch them, and he imagined he could see them in the quiet space between them, dancing accusatorily in front of Kagami’s wide eyes, and fuck, that came out harsher than he’d planned, maybe he could still take it back if he spoke quickly enough—

“Yeah.”

Aomine’s mouth snapped shut. Kagami was fiddling now with the napkin folded in front of him, rubbing one of the corners between his thumb and forefinger.

“Does it help if I still feel pretty shitty about that?” Kagami asked.

“Um.”

“It’s just—” Kagami broke off with a sigh, fixing Aomine with a helpless look. “At the time I honestly didn’t think you’d care. We weren’t dating, and, I mean, sometimes it seemed as though we were barely friends, so I never really knew how to bring it up. And it… it would’ve been too hard for me.” His cheeks were red in the dim light of the pub. “I was really hung up on you back then. I don’t know if you ever knew that, but… yeah. And I guess I thought it would be better to just quit cold turkey. That maybe with distance it wouldn’t hurt so bad, or that I’d find someone else in America who could make me forget you, or something. I dunno. It was shitty. And I guess I really didn’t think about your feelings at all, did I?” He sighed, ran a hand through his hair. “Shit. I’m sorry. It’s probably too late for me to say that and have it actually mean anything, but I am.”

“And did you?” Aomine asked, staring at Kagami, hardly believing what he was hearing.

Kagami frowned slightly. “Did I what?”

“Find someone else in America?”

“No,” Kagami said, looking frustrated. “It sucked. College ball was fun, and there are some great players there, but there’s no one like you—”

Aomine reached across the table, curled his fingers into Kagamis collar, and hauled Kagami in for a kiss, sparing a moment to be briefly grateful that their plates had already been cleared. The kiss was warm and dry and tasted faintly of beer, and Kagami’s lips were soft and open, parted mid-gasp, and Aomine’s heart stuttered a little when he felt Kagami eventually press into the kiss and curl a hand around the back of Aomine’s neck, holding him in place, drawing him closer.

This was so much better than the night before. There was nothing to distract Aomine now, nothing to keep him from relishing the way Kagami’s lips moved beneath his, the way Kagami buried his fingers in Aomine’s hair, the way Aomine’s heart raced as Kagami made a soft noise into the kiss.

“Holy shit,” Aomine breathed against Kagami’s lips, and he felt Kagami smile— _felt_ , not _saw_ , they were too close for that, and damn if that didn’t make Aomine’s stomach swoop.

“What?” Kagami said, his voice low.

“Why didn’t we do this in high school?” Aomine groaned, punctuating the question with another firm kiss. Kagami’s hand curled into a fist in his hair, and Aomine had to bite back an embarrassing sound.

“Probably because we were idiots,” Kagami said, still smiling, and Aomine wanted to kiss that smile silly, wanted to kiss it until he’d memorized its every angle. “And, you know. Teenagers.”

“I hate past us,” Aomine said.

“Past us sucked.” Kagami pressed a kiss to the corner of Aomine’s mouth and then to his jaw, where he paused, letting out a little huff of laughter. “You know what else sucks?”

“Hm?” Aomine said, trying to breathe, but it was hard when his face was half-buried in Kagami’s hair.

“This table, for one thing,” Kagami said, finally leaning back a little, and it took everything Aomine had not to clamber over the table to follow him. “And the fact that I have to work at four o’clock tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, gross,” Aomine said, automatically, still a little dazed from the sudden absence of Kagami.

“Tell me about it.” Kagami sighed, but he was still smiling, his face a little flushed, and Aomine didn’t think he could look away if a bomb went off at the next table. “But I’m stating for the record my total disappointment with that. Because this has been great and I really don’t want it to be over.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Aomine said hurriedly. “I mean. It does for tonight, but we’ll do it again soon, right?” Oh god, he sounded like such a fucking loser, _what was happening—_

“Right,” Kagami said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna run to the restroom before we head out.” He slid out of the booth, stretching casually as he stood, and honestly, that just wasn’t even fair, because of course Aomine would be staring at his chest and the way his dark shirt pulled across his shoulders, and then Kagami caught him staring and grinned and _fuck_ , Aomine didn’t know if he wanted to punch him or kiss him again. “And next time dinner will be on me.”

“Wha—? Oh.” Aomine stared down at the check, resting neatly in its black leather holder near the edge of the table. “Right,” he said.

“Thanks for dinner,” Kagami said as he turned away. “I’ll be right back.”

Aomine watched him disappear around the corner, and then he stared at the check again, not even registering the amount. He let out a slow, even breath, and quietly lowered his head to the table.

Oh, yeah. He was so fucked.

So why the hell couldn’t he stop grinning?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god, i'm sorry this took ages to put out, but life has been MADNESS. (get it? get it??? heh. okay i'm done being a nerd and also i'm overtired, i'm sorry.)
> 
> only one chapter left in my plan for this fic, and it's going to be a ~celebration~. a pretty big one. of the marital kind.
> 
> i hope you can see where this is going, i don't think i can be any more obvious.
> 
> B)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S DONE! An entire year later, wow, I'm so great at this.
> 
> Anyway, not much to say here, other than you might have noticed that the rating went up. There is a reason for that. Heh.
> 
> Enjoy!

The next day, Aomine was still riding the high of his first official date with Kagami, a date that had ended much too soon and with way too little kissing, in Aomine’s opinion, although the kissing itself had been pretty damn great, and they’d parted with the promise of many more dates and much more kissing, so Aomine decided he could let it slide.

Satsuki was visiting again for dinner, fussing over something in the kitchen. That probably should have made Aomine nervous, but he was too pleased with the world to mind a potential terrible mess all over his stove, so he decided to let that slide, too. (Although he did set himself up at the table while she worked, just in case whatever she was cooking caught on fire or became sentient or something. It never hurt to be cautious.)

“Dai-chan, do you _ever_ go through your mail?” Satsuki asked.

Aomine glanced up from his laptop—the U.S. was in the middle of March Madness, which usually led to some of the year’s best college basketball highlights—and saw Satsuki frowning at the giant, slumping stack of mail on his countertop, her hands on her hips.

“Not really,” he said, turning back to his screen. “It’s mostly junk, anyway.”

“What if someone sends you something?”

“Who uses regular mail anymore?”

“Midorin, for one,” Satsuki said, starting to shuffle through the teetering stack of envelopes and old magazines. “And hospitals, for another.”

“Ah,” Aomine said, absently flexing his injured hand. “Right.”

“Here we are!” Satsuki plucked a small card from the stack of mail and turned it so that Aomine could see it, although how she expected him to read the fine, delicate characters printed on the front of the card from all the way across the room, he had no idea.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Midorin’s save-the-date,” Satsuki said.

“Oh.” Aomine frowned. “Wait, I thought the wedding was going to be family only.”

Satsuki sighed and cocked her head, fixing Aomine with a disappointed look that made him flush.

“What?” he grumbled.

“Do you listen at all when people speak to you?” Satsuki asked.

“You should know the answer to that by now.”

“Dai-chan, honestly.” Satsuki shook out her hair and tapped the card against her hip as she spoke. “Midorin said that they’ve expanded the guest list for the reception to include both friends and family, because apparently Takao-kun—quote—‘would be damned if he had to spend the entire reception schmoozing with no one their age except their little sisters’ dates, who might not even be invited, because they’re little bastards.’ End quote.”

“How do you remember shit like that?”

“Years of practice making up for what you don’t remember,” Satsuki said. “So, long story short, we’ve been invited to the reception. Isn’t that sweet?”

“Peachy,” Aomine grumbled, hunching over his computer again.

“Oh come on, you know you’ll have fun. It’ll be an open bar, and Kagamin will be there.”

Aomine felt his eyebrow twitch. “How do you know?”

“We talked about it at the party.” Satsuki flipped the card toward him like a Frisbee; it ticked against the side of his computer screen and rebounded into a lazy spin on the tabletop. Aomine pinned it with a finger. “And Kagamin was included in the people who would receive a save-the-date. I remember, because then Takao-kun made a joke about how Kagamin might not need one, considering he would probably be invited as someone _else’s_ plus-one.”

Aomine suddenly felt overwarm. He spun the card beneath his finger, slumping low behind his computer screen.

“You don’t say,” he grumbled.

Satsuki picked up a spatula and and turned back to the stove.

“Don’t be so embarrassed,” she said. “Everybody thinks it’s adorable.”

“That is exactly what I don’t want to hear,” Aomine said.

“Too bad,” Satsuki said, sing-song and giddy. Aomine just glowered. She glanced at him over her shoulder, and her expression softened. “You look happy again, you know,” she said quietly. “You weren’t happy on Friday. You weren’t even happy before you got into that stupid barfight. You pretended you were, but I could tell.” Satsuki turned away, stirring whatever it was she was concocting for dinner. “But you’re happy now. With him.” She smiled softly, just barely visible through the hair hanging over her shoulder. “I’m glad.”

Aomine tapped a finger against the card for a few moments, and then he rose to his feet and stepped over to stand behind Satsuki. He hooked his chin over her shoulder, wrapped his arms around her waist, and gently pressed his cheek to hers.

“Thanks,” he said, and if his voice was a little rougher than usual, neither of them mentioned it.

Satsuki leaned back against him for a moment, then bumped her head against his jaw to shoo him away.

“Okay, out,” she said. “I can’t cook with you constantly hovering.”

“I’m making sure you don’t burn down my apartment,” Aomine said.

“You can do that from the living room,” she said. “Now, shoo!”

Aomine placed one last smacking kiss to the back of her head, making her swat at him with the spatula, and then he gathered up his laptop and, after a moment of hesitation, Midorima’s save-the-date, and headed for the couch.

The save-the-date was tasteful, cream parchment paper with forest green embellishments. Delicate script laid out the date, the time, the location, the grooms’ names. And there, at the bottom, was a request to RSVP as soon as possible, either alone or…

Aomine tapped the card against his knee, his jaw clenched. He eyed his phone, sitting on the coffee table where he’d left it earlier.

_Fuck it_ , he thought, and snatched up the phone. A few swipes of his thumb brought him to his recent calls, and he pointedly ignored the little jump in his belly when he noticed that Kagami had recently monopolized his phone time. He dialed and put the phone to his ear.

It took five rings for Kagami to pick up.

“Hey,” Kagami said, sounding relieved and fond and oddly out of breath. He sounded like he was pleased that Aomine called. 

Aomine had the sudden urge to hide his face.

“Yo,” he said instead, trying and failing to sound aloof.

“I was wondering when I’d hear from you,” Kagami said. “You worked today, right?”

“Yeah, the usual shift.”

“How was it?”

Aomine blinked. No one ever asked him about work.

“It was… fine,” he said. “Nothing out of the ordinary. How about you? Get knocked out by any more invalids?”

“I was never ‘knocked out,’ thank you very much,” Kagami said. “It was just a bump.”

“A bump that gave you stitches.”

“It was a big bump,” Kagami grumbled. “So, what’s up?”

Aomine’s smirk fell as he eyed the save-the-date again, still held in one hand.

“I got a save-the-date today for Midorima and Takao’s wedding,” he said, turning the card over and then back. “Did you hear anything about that?”

“Yeah, Midorima mentioned it on Friday. I haven’t gotten mine yet, though.”

“Hm.” Aomine tapped the card against his leg again, a terse, steady rhythm. “You gonna go?”

“I think so, yeah.”

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

“You want to go together?” Aomine asked.

“I think so, yeah.” There was a smile in Kagami’s voice. Aomine once again felt the urge to bury his face into the couch cushions. “Wait, does this make me your plus-one?”

“That, or we could each go with our own invitations and pretend we don’t know each other and proceed to seduce each other over the open bar.”

“Are you suggesting that we roleplay at Midorima’s wedding?”

Aomine grinned. “Maybe.”

“Well, then, I guess I’ll see you at the reception, Aomine-san, stranger whom I have never met before.”

“I look forward to it, Kagami-san.”

Kagami chuckled, and Aomine’s heart tried to climb up his throat.

“We’re still on for Wednesday, though, right?” Kagami asked.

“We’d better be.”

“Good. I’ve been looking forward to that.”

This time, Aomine allowed himself to press a hand over his eyes. “Me, too.”

There was a beat of silence, warm and comfortable, and then Kagami sighed, almost imperceptibly.

“Sorry, I have to go, I left dinner on the stove,” he said. “I’ll text you later, okay?”

“Yeah, all right. Say hi to Tetsu.”

“Will do.”

They hung up, and Aomine let out a long, even breath, sinking back against the couch cushions. He lifted the card to skim the emerald text again, his uninjured knee jiggling as he took in some of the details he’d missed before, and then his eyes snagged on the date near the top.

… And then he actually _read_ the date near the top.

“Oi, Satsuki!” he called.

“What?”

“This says the reception is in two weeks!”

“Yeah, so?”

“What the hell?” Aomine snapped. “I thought these things usually get sent out months ahead of time.”

“Well, yeah, when you finalize the guest list months ahead of time,” Satsuki said, stepping into the doorway separating the kitchen and the living room. “Midorin said this was a last minute decision. Why, what’s wrong with it being in a couple of weeks?”

“Nothing, it’s just…” Aomine trailed off, slumping back onto the couch. “It’s soon, is all. I have to find a suit.”

“I’m sure you have one somewhere,” Satsuki said breezily, heading back into the kitchen.

Aomine stared at the save-the-date.

So. The reception was in less than two weeks. Which meant that Aomine had less than two weeks to learn how to act like a normal human being around Kagami Taiga, in order to avoid humiliating himself around all of his other friends, who would be watching the two of them like hawks, he was sure.

Aomine let his head fall back against the couch. He could barely keep himself together just _thinking_ about Kagami—thinking about kissing him, about the fact that he _could_ kiss him, whenever he wanted, for however long he wanted, could maybe even do more than just kiss him, could maybe even think of him as that elusive word, _boyfriend_ —so naturally he couldn’t even imagine having to control himself in a semi-romantic setting, let alone a fucking wedding reception, where there would be slow-dances and mandatory glass-clinking kisses and romantic lighting and booze and…

It would be a miracle if Aomine didn’t make a fool of himself at least once.

Aomine clenched his hand around the save-the-date, crinkling the thick paper. He tried not to think about Kagami’s smile, about Kagami’s laughter, about Kagami in a suit and tie. All of the things that could prove to be potentially fatal two Saturdays from now.

He shook his head and turned back to his sleeping computer, ready to lose himself in basketball replays again.

Two weeks.

He’d be ready.

*

_Two weeks later…_

*

Aomine shoved a crumpled bill into the tip jar just as his second gin and tonic slid across the bar and into his waiting hand. He exchanged a respectful nod with the bartender, then turned away with a sigh to face the dance floor, already full of bouncing, middle-aged bodies.

He and Satsuki had arrived at the wedding reception together about an hour earlier, after a bit of a panicked afternoon ( _“Dai-chan, we have to be at the reception in two hours, and you’re not even wearing pants yet! And why is your suit jacket on the bathroom floor? If you end up attending this reception looking crumply, so help me god—”_ ), but it turned out that they were the first of Midorima and Takao’s friends to arrive. Akashi wasn’t there yet (of course he wasn’t, it was far too early for him to make his proper fashionably late entrance), Murasakibara wasn’t there yet, Kuroko wasn’t there yet…

Kagami wasn’t there yet.

Aomine took a long sip of his drink. It was stronger than the first one had been; his jaw tingled pleasantly as he let the alcohol spread over his tongue. He made a mental note to increase his tips for the bartender.

Across the dance floor, Kise was busy charming an older woman who could only have been Takao’s mother. Kasamatsu hovered near his elbow, nursing a glass of beer, a small, fond smile on his face as he watched Kise work his magic. The two of them had arrived only about a half an hour after Aomine and Satsuki, and Kise was already well on his way to becoming the darling of all of the older women in the room. They fluttered around him like a flock of jewel-toned hens, cooing over how polite he was, how well he cleaned up, how nice his quiet “friend” was, how long it had been since any of them had seen him, and really, why hadn’t he and Midorima kept in better touch? They did so miss seeing him around.

Aomine watched as Kise threw his head back and let out a bright laugh, loud enough to carry over the soft jazz ballad playing through the speakers. The women around him tittered and flushed, and Aomine managed to make brief eye contact with Kasamatsu, who just rolled his eyes good-naturedly and raised his glass in an ironic salute. Aomine smirked and returned the gesture, then turned his gaze to the dance floor.

Satsuki had somehow managed to snag Midorima away from his own swarm of familial admirers for a dance. They twirled with surprising grace in the middle of the dance floor, Satsuki a glowing vision in pale green, her hair pulled back in tumbling curls at the nape of her neck, Midorima sleek and suave in his pressed black tux. Satsuki was beaming, chattering on about something or other, and Midorima smiled down at her benevolently, as relaxed as Aomine had ever seen him. Aomine glanced at the head table and was unsurprised to see Takao leaning against it, one hand loosely cupped around a slim champagne glass, his eyes fixed on his husband— _husband_ , Aomine repeated to himself, shaking his head slightly in wonder that one of their number was actually married, officially, like a fucking _adult_. There was a dopey smile on Takao’s face as he watched his husband dance, and Aomine obviously wasn’t the only one watching; he could see other people spread around the room nudging each other and jerking their chins towards Takao, all smiling, all fond, trying and failing to be subtle in their admiration of the starry-eyed newlywed.

“He looks happy,” said a voice near Aomine’s elbow, and Aomine was proud to say that he only jumped a little bit.

“He does,” he agreed. He glanced over; Kuroko was wearing a dark gray suit and a light tie, and there was already a glass of wine in his hand. “You clean up good.”

“Thank you,” Kuroko said. “Momoi-san had suggestions.”

Aomine snorted. “I’m sure she did.” Satsuki’d had suggestions for him, too, which was how he ended up in a slick pinstriped number with a much darker, much skinnier tie than he was used to. He tapped a finger against his glass. “When did you get here?”

“Just a few minutes ago.”

Aomine cleared his throat, trying not to let his suddenly tingling nerves show. “Is your roommate here?” he asked.

Kuroko eyed him sidelong, his gaze deadpan. “Other end of the bar.”

It took everything in Aomine’s power not to whip his head around to find Kagami that very second.

“Ah,” he said. “Cool.” He tipped back his drink and finished it off in one swig, then lifted a hand to summon the bartender for another. It was ridiculous for him to be nervous—he’d just seen Kagami three days ago; they’d grabbed dinner and ended up watching basketball and making out lazily on Aomine’s couch until the wee hours of the morning—but for some reason this felt different. This felt official, in a way that their other dates hadn’t quite. Not that the other dates hadn’t been great—quite the opposite, really—but this time they were in the presence of all of their friends, in the presence of downright _strangers_ , and Aomine was going to blatantly show the entire room full of them that he and Kagami were together.

Aomine shoved yet another bill into the tip jar—a larger one this time, and the bartender smiled at him when she noticed—and took his new drink. Then he finally let his gaze drift to the opposite end of the bar, and his breath left him in a gust.

It wasn’t that he’d never pictured Kagami in a suit before. He had, in fact. In rather embarrassing detail.

It was just that his imagination had never quite done it justice.

Kagami was leaning over the bar, chatting amiably with the other bartender as she mixed him a drink, something dark with whiskey. His suit was crisp and black, his tie slim and scarlet, a perfect match to the small pocket square at his breast. Cufflinks glinted at his wrists as he took the drink and slipped a bill of some kind into the bartender’s hand; she bowed to him, her cheeks flushed, clearly smitten, and Aomine couldn’t even blame her.

Because above the suit, above the easy smile and the long fingers and the sharp, bright eyes, were four black stitches bisecting Kagami’s right eyebrow, making him look dangerous, rugged.

And undeniably, incredibly, heart-stoppingly sexy.

Aomine swallowed hard and took a large sip of his drink.

“Aomine-kun, you’re staring,” Kuroko said from behind him, his voice just this side of amused.

“Shut-up, Tetsu,” Aomine said, gathering himself and stepping away from the bar. “I’ll catch you later.”

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Kuroko called after him. Aomine flipped him the bird.

Kagami saw him coming over, and his smile slowly widened. His eyes trailed over Aomine from head to toe, appreciative and unabashed, and Aomine felt his mouth go dry.

“Hello, stranger,” Kagami said as Aomine approached. “I’d offer you a drink, but I see you already have one.”

“You can get the next one,” Aomine said, slouching against the bar beside Kagami, trying to appear nonchalant even though he was sure Kagami could probably hear his stupid thudding heart.

“You come here often?” Kagami said, fingers laced loosely around his glass on the bar.

“Oh my god, you’re terrible at this,” Aomine said with a smirk.

Kagami turned a pleasing shade of pink. “I don’t exactly do this often, you know. I’d be much better at just treating you like the guy I’ve been dating for a few weeks.”

Aomine’s heart tripped over itself for a beat. “What’s stopping you?”

Kagami’s smile went soft, and he leaned in slowly until his lips were just beside Aomine’s. Aomine went very still; he could smell Kagami’s cologne, subtle and surprisingly sweet.

“Hey,” Kagami said, his voice low, his breath warm against Aomine’s cheek.

“Hi there,” Aomine said, trying to ignore the way his head was spinning. Kagami turned his head slightly and there lips met, gently, warmly, lingering just long enough that Aomine chased Kagami slightly when Kagami pulled away.

“See?” Kagami said, casual once again, lifting his drink to his lips. “I’m much better at that.”

Aomine just stared at him until Kagami’s brow furrowed a little.

“Aomine?”

“Fuck,” Aomine breathed. He set his drink down on the bar and grabbed Kagami’s wrist, tugging him away. “Come with me.”

“What?” Kagami said, half-laughing, but he set his drink down beside Aomine’s and followed Aomine away from the bar. “Where are we going?”

“Just come on,” Aomine said. He steered them through the people milling around the dinner tables, aiming for the small sign that said “Restroom” in the corner. He shoved open the door to the men’s bathroom and, after a quick glance beneath the stalls to make sure that no one else was in there, tugged Kagami inside and locked the door behind them.

Kagami was watching him with wide eyes, his lips parted and cheeks flushed.

“What’re you—?”

Aomine cut him off with a fierce kiss, pressing Kagami back against the cream-tiled wall. He curled his hands into Kagami’s lapels and opened his mouth against Kagami’s, breathing him in, touching his lips with his tongue.

“Oh,” Kagami breathed, and then there was a hand in Aomine’s hair and another at the small of his back, pressing him closer. Aomine could already feel himself getting hard, and he mentally formed a small apology to both his suit and Kagami’s, and then proceeded to shift his hand over to Kagami’s tie, loosening the knot so that he could expose Kagami’s flushed throat. He pulled away from the kiss and took a moment to appreciate the view—Kagami’s eyes heavy and half-lidded, his mouth already red from kissing, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed—and then he leaned in to mouth at Kagami’s neck, dragging his teeth over Kagami’s pulse point, his heart racing as Kagami let out a stifled moan. Kagami’s hand tightened in Aomine’s hair, tugging just so, and Aomine let one hand drift down to Kagami’s hip, squeezing just above the bone. He brought up his knee and pressed it firmly between Kagami’s legs; Kagami’s breath hitched in his throat.

“You wanna do this?” Aomine asked quietly, against Kagami’s skin.

“Fuck yes,” Kagami said, his voice rough, and Aomine pressed up again, sucking a bruising kiss against Kagami’s jaw. It didn’t take long for Kagami to start writhing against him, mindlessly seeking friction, his length hard and heavy against Aomine’s thigh. Aomine lifted his head to capture Kagami’s lips again, swallowing Kagami’s shallow breaths, the quiet, wanton noises Kagami made as he rubbed himself against Aomine.

Aomine fumbled between them for a moment, going for Kagami’s pants. It took him a breathless moment, but he managed to flick the button open and slip his hand past Kagami’s waistband to wrap around his cock. Kagami groaned breathlessly, his hips bucking into Aomine’s hand.

“ _God_ ,” he said, barely more than a moan. Aomine kissed him again, his other hand pressed against Kagami’s jaw as he started to move his hand around Kagami’s cock, his fingers just loose enough to avoid being too rough. He rubbed his thumb against the top of Kagami’s cock, eliciting a shuddered breath from Kagami, and then slid his hand down again, slicking up Kagami’s cock to ease the friction of his grip.

_This is it_ , he thought, as Kagami’s lips moved against his, hot and rough. _This is what I wanted. God, I’m so fucked._

Kagami slid a hand down to Aomine’s ass and tugged him close, and Aomine inhaled sharply as his own cock rubbed against Kagami’s hip.

“Can’t believe we’re doing this for the first time in a public bathroom,” Kagami said breathlessly.

“I can,” Aomine said, pressing a kiss to the corner of Kagami’s mouth as he twisted his hand, making Kagami shudder. “There was no way I could wait through a whole fucking reception, with you looking like this.”

“Fuck.” Kagami buried his face in Aomine’s shoulder. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that.”

Aomine let out a rough breath as Kagami’s hand tightened on his ass, pressing him more firmly against Kagami. “To what?”

“To you saying stuff like that.”

“Yeah, well.” Aomine inhaled slowly, trying to control his shaking voice and the way blood was rushing to his cheeks. “I wasted too many years not saying shit like that to you when I really should have, so I have to make up for it somehow.” Aomine punctuated this by squeezing Kagami’s cock, and Kagami made a guttural sound against his neck, his breath humid against Aomine’s skin.

“Shit, I might—”

Aomine tightened his grip, ran his hand over the head of Kagami’s cock again, and then back down, repeating the motion until Kagami was shuddering against him.

“Let go,” Aomine whispered into Kagami’s ear, and Kagami clung to him as he came, muffling a breathless cry against the fabric of Aomine’s suit jacket. It took him a few seconds to recover, during which he panted against Aomine’s neck and Aomine wondered how such a simple act could be so endearing, and then a shaking hand slipped into Aomine’s pants, cupping his erection through his boxers, and Aomine lost his train of thought.

Kagami’s voice was rough and pleased when he said, “You’re already so—”

“It’s been a while, okay?” Aomine said, biting his lip as Kagami slid his hand into Aomine’s boxers and started stroking. “And it’s you, so.”

Kagami hummed against Aomine’s neck, pressing gentle kisses to his skin.

“I’m glad,” he said. “That it’s me.”

Aomine pressed his face into Kagami’s hair, which smelled clean and faintly like citrus, and focused on the firm press of Kagami’s body against his, the warmth of Kagami’s hand around his length, coaxing waves of pleasure through him. Kagami trailed his lips lightly across Aomine’s throat, leaving goosebumps in his wake, making Aomine’s spine tingle. It wouldn’t be long now, Aomine knew; he’d been waiting for this for so long that part of him couldn’t believe it was true, that this was happening, that this was _Kagami_ —Kagami, who had already come for him; Kagami, who had now pulled away and was looking at him like nothing else mattered in the world; Kagami, who was leaning in to kiss him again, open-mouthed and tender, his hand tightening around Aomine’s cock, rubbing circles over the tip, just so, just so, _just so_ —

Aomine broke the kiss to pant out a curse as he came, hips bucking, clutching at Kagami’s shoulders as his knees threatened to buckle beneath him. Kagami held him easily, lips pressed to Aomine’s jaw, turning them gently so that Aomine could slump against the wall, boneless and sated as the afterglow washed through him.

“Fuck,” Aomine breathed, blinking at the ceiling. Kagami was grinning at him.

“Sounds about right,” he said.

“We should do this more often.”

“That also sounds about right,” Kagami said. He leaned in to kiss Aomine, firm and tender, and when he leaned back he was still grinning. “We should get cleaned up. Someone’s bound to need the bathroom sooner or later.”

Aomine grumbled, but when Kagami offered him his hand, he grasped it and allowed himself to be pulled away from the wall.

It took a few minutes for them to tidy themselves up, tugging suit jackets and ties back into place, running their hands under warm water, cleaning up boxers to the best of their ability, and soon enough, they were headed back into the reception hall, where the soft jazz had transitioned into something much more modern and with much more bass.

Kuroko was waiting for them beside the bar, where he was standing with Satsuki, who looked flushed and shining from her bout of dancing.

“There you two are!” she said as Aomine and Kagami approached. “I was wondering where you ran off to. It looks like the gang’s all here now, and Midorin’s mom wanted to get some pictures of the whole high school basketball crew before the party gets too wild.”

“All of us?” Kagami asked.

“Yes, all of us,” Satsuki said, hastily throwing back the remainder of the wine in her glass. “That means you, too, Kagamin. Come on, come on.” She hooked her arms through Aomine’s and Kagami’s arms and led them away from the bar, calling over her shoulder for Kuroko to follow. Aomine tried to avoid Kuroko’s gaze as they headed across the dance floor to where the others were already starting to gather; there had been a knowing gleam in Kuroko’s eye when he and Kagami had reappeared that Aomine didn’t really want to address until he was either dead or much drunker.

“Don’t you all look lovely!” Midorima’s mother was bright and beaming as she greeted them, her hands clasped beneath her chin. “I know this might seem a little silly to you, but you have all been in Shintarou’s life for so long, and playing basketball with you was such a core part of his childhood, that I think it’s worth marking the occasion with a group photograph of you all. Don’t you agree?”

Satsuki and Kise were the first to assure Midorima’s mother that yes, of course, it was a wonderful idea, and even Akashi—newly arrived and looking sleek in all black—made the proper polite sounds of acquiescence, and so the posing began.

Murasakibara loomed in the back of the photograph, looking bored as usual. He was flanked by Midorima, who stood in the middle beside Takao (although Takao probably should have been in the front row, but husband’s privilege, Aomine supposed), and Aomine, who yanked Kagami over to stand beside him, photographer’s preference be damned. Himuro took up a stance beside Murasakibara, resting a calming hand at the small of Murasakibara’s back.

Chairs were brought over, and Kise, Kasamatsu, Akashi, Kuroko, and Satsuki all took up position in the front row, ankles crossed neatly, hands folded at the photographer’s request. Aomine ruffled Kuroko’s hair just to make him glare—which he did, balefully, as he fixed his hair once more—and then Aomine took a deep breath, watching as the photographer sweated behind his camera, wondering how the hell he was going to fit Murasakibara’s head into the frame.

“This seems weird,” Kagami said, leaning against Aomine so he could whisper into his ear.

“What are you talking about?” Aomine muttered. “This is the most natural photograph ever taken.”

“No, I mean…” Kagami broke off with a frown. “The fact that I’m in here. Shouldn’t this just be a Generation of Miracles thing? You guys are the ones who were with him through all of that. I feel like I’m intruding.”

Aomine was a quiet for a moment, eyeing the small crowd that had gathered to watch the making of what was basically an historic awkward family photo. Even so, he knew that this would mean something, to some of them. Possibly to him, too. He reached down and twined his fingers around Kagami’s, squeezing gently.

“You belong here,” he said, his voice low. “The Generation of Miracles would have been nothing without you. We never would’ve gotten here if it weren’t for you. You know that, right?”

Kagami made a doubtful noise; Aomine squeezed his fingers again.

“You know that,” he repeated. It wasn’t a question this time. “You’re a miracle in your own right, okay? And this is where you belong. With us.” He paused, rubbing his thumb over Kagami’s skin. “With me.”

Kagami squeezed his hand, but before he could respond, the photographer was calling for them all to look his way and smile. Aomine didn’t drop Kagami’s hand. He wasn’t sure whether their linked hands would be visible in the photograph, or whether they would be hidden behind Kuroko’s back, but Aomine found—as the flash briefly blinded him and Takao laughed and claimed that he’d blinked and could they please take another, just to be safe, to the chorused groans of everyone else in the photograph—that he really didn’t care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all she wrote.
> 
> Thanks for reading and being so patient with me - I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> xoxo


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